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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 
THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


NWs 


THE 


SHADY  SIDE; 


n  a 

BY  A  PASTOK'S  WIFE. 


"The  shadow  creeps  and  creeps,  and  is  always  looking  over  the  shoulder  of 
the  sunshine." 

•"As  sorrowful,  yet  always  rejoicing;   as  poor,  yet  making  many  rich;  as 
Ir.ivin^'  nothing,  and  yet  possessing  all  thin;:;;.'" 


NEW   YORK: 

ROBERT   CARTER  &  BROTHERS, 

No.    530    BROADWAY. 

1865. 


Shtercd  according  to  Act  af  Congress,  in  the  year  1663,  by 

-JOHN    P.    JEWETT   &    CO., 
2a  tte  Clerk's  Cfl..-e  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  MassnnhiuetU.1. 


STEREOTYPED    BT 

HOBART   t    KOBBINS, 

•JtW    ENGLAND   TYPE    AND   STKREOTYPB   FO 
BOSTON. 


AFTER  being  for  some  time  out  of  print,  this  Volume,  which  played 
so  useful  a  part  in  years  gone  by,  is  again  republished.  Though 
the  hand  that  traced  this  thrilling  narrative  is  now  palsied  in  death, 
yet  the  object  she  sought  to  promote  (>.  e.  an  interest  in  the  faithful 
Pastor  on  the  part  of  his  congregation)  is  no  less  important  now 
than  on  its  first  publication,  when  more  than  FORTY  THOUSAND  COPIES 
were  sold  to  the  multitudes  who  read  with  unflagging  interest  the 
touching  and  only  too  truthful  story. 


TO 

MY    HUSBAND, 

FELLO W-PILG1U.M   IN  A   PATH   SIMILAR  TO   THAI 

HEREIN   FAINTLY   SKETCHED,  —  DARKSOME,   YET   ILLUMINED, 

4IV'D   BRIGHTENING   MORE   ONLY   AS    HEAVEN'S   NEARER    LIGHT    FALLS 

UPON  IT,  —  WHO,  NOT   SHUNNING  FOR   HIMSELF   ITS   ROUGHNESSES,  HAS    KVEB 

SMOOTHED  THE  WAY  FOR   THESE   TENDERER  FEET,    NO11LY 

BEARING   MORE  THAN   HIS    HALF   ITS   BURDENS, 

STJjfs  Simple  Narvatibe, 

STRONGLY   SUGGESTIVE    OF   OUR    MUTUAL   TRIALS,   AND    FEWER   YET 

FAR  MORE   EXCEEDING   JOTS, 
18    AFFECTIONATELY    AND    GRATEFULLY 


PREFACE. 


LET  not  the  gentle  reader  turn  away  froir  the  sombre 
title  of  this  book,  fearful  of  too  dark  a  picture.  It  has, 
its  lights  as  well  as  shades  ;  yet,  as  one  sketch  of  the 
same  landscape  has  taken  its  title  from  the  interspersed 
brightness,  the  author  of  this  has  chosen  its  appellation 
from  the  opposite  feature  of  the  scene  ;  confident,  too, 
that,  however  softened,  gilded,  or  inly  illumined,  the 
original  presents  to  an  observer's  eye  more  shadow 
than  sunshine. 

Neither  let  any  say,  "  The  thing  is  not  new ;  we  have 
had  this  before."  So  far  as  the  book  may  seem  to 
traverse  ground  recently  occupied  by  kindred  publica 
tions,  justice  to  herself  prompts  the  writer  to  say  that 
the  idea  originated  in  her  own  mind,  two  or  three  years 
ago,  and  was  shaping  itself  thus,  before  the  appearance 
of  Sunny  Side,  —  that  popular  little  book,  now  doubly 
dear  as  one  of  the  last  legacies,  from  a  gifted  pen,  to  the 
Christian  community.  That  work  led,  indeed,  to  some 
modification  of  these  pages,  lest  the  writer  should  seem 

to  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  another. 
1* 


vi  PREFACE. 

Nor,  again,  need  any  affirm  this  to  be  a  book  of 
fiction.  While  it  is  not  averred  that  every  incident 
occurred  in  the  connection  here  presented,  thus  much 
may  be  ventured ;  —  that  if  any  scenes  seem  to  the 
reader  to  be  drawn  from  fancy,  and  not  quite  true  to 
nature,  they  are,  doubtless,  the  literal,  unvarnished  inci 
dents  of  veritable  history.  Indeed,  so  faithful  is  the 
picture  to  truth,  that  it  is  quite  possible  the  originals 
may  start  up,  here  and  there,  aggrieved  at  what  they 
deem  an  unauthorized  exposure  of  their  features  to  the 
world  at  large.  To  any  such,  the  writer  would  say,  in 
all  sincerity,  that,  so  far  as  her  own  history  supplied 
materials  for  illustration,  while  she  has  much  "exten 
uated,"  she  has  "  set  down  naught  in  malice  ;"  —  sure, 
meanwhile,  of  her  motive,  so  to  set  forth  fact,  as  to 
awaken  attention  to  existing  evils,  and  stimulate  those 
who  have  the  power,  to  apply  the  remedy. 

With  this  end,  these  simple  annals  of  Parsonage  life, — 
written  hastily,  under  the  pressure  of  multiform  cares, 
—  are  committed  to  the  Great  Shepherd  of  the  fold,  and 
to  a  candid  Christian  public. 


THE   SHADY   SIDE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  Every  beginning  is  shrouded  in  -a  mist, 

And  the  traveller  setteth  on  his  journey  oppressed  with  many  thought*. 
Balancing  his  hopes  and  fears,  and  looking  for  some  order  in  the  chaos  : 
So,  he  commence tli  at  a  clue,  unravelling  its  tangled  skein, 
And  boldly  speedeth  on  to  thread  the  labyrinth  before  him." 

IT  was  a  beautiful  day  in  the  early  autumn  of  183-.  The 
last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  shot  aslant  between  a  row  of  old 
poplars,  and  illumined  the  windows  of  a  substantial  farm-house 
in  the  valley  of  the  Housatonic.  It  was  such  a  house  as  one 
might  fijyl  almost  anywhere  in  the  agricultural  districts  of  New 
England,  —  two  stories  in  front,  with  a  back  roof,  long  and 
sloping,  and  a  "  lean-to  "  in  the  rear,  just  high  enough  from 
the  ground  to  receive  under  its  eaves  a  hogshead  as  a  reservoir 
for  the  falling  rain.  On  the  old  moss-covered  well-sweep,  high 
in  air,  swung  the  oaken  bucket,  from  which  the  tea-kettle  had 
just  been  filled  in  view  of  the  evening  meal. 

From  a  capacious  barn  near  by  issued  two  rosy-cheeked, 
bare-headed  boys,  fresh  from  a  contested  search  of  the  hens' 
nests ;  one  bringing  the  spoils  in  his  cloth  cap,  and  the  other 
in  his  well-worn  palmleaf,  at  the  imminent  risk  of  their  exit 
through  the  crown.  A  third  hardy  little  urchin  was  sitting 
astride  a  door-sill  in  the  old  weather-beaten  granary,  plying  his 
jack-knife  on  a  cross-bow,  and  looking  up  at  every  bird  that, 


8  THE  SHADY  SIDE;   OR, 

flitting  by,  rested  its  wing  among  the  poplars.  Presently  his 
quick  eye  caught  sight  of  a  black  pony,  pacing  noiselessly  up 
the  untravclled  road,  bearing  on  his  back  a  gentleman  who  was 
uo  stranger  there.  But,  instead  of  running  down  the  deep 
yard  to  open  the  gate,  our  young  rogue  scampered  round  the 
corner  of  the  house,  clapping  his  hands,  and  shouting  to  his 
brothers,  "  Boys,  boys,  Uncle  Ned  has  come  !  " 

While  the  boys  are  making  all  speed  toward  the  kitchen,  to 
dispossess  themselves  of  their  precious  freight,  and  inform 
mother  of  the  arrival,  there  is  a  stirring  of  the  white  curtains  of 
one  of  the  "  north  room  "  windows.  A  neat  muslin  cap-border 
brings  nearer  the  glass  a  much-wrinkled  yet  placid  face,  which 
soon  turns  away  again  to  an  aged  companion,  with  the  words, 
"  See  here,  father  ;  is  n't  this  our  Edward  ?  "  By  this  time, 
three  active  boys  hold  the  black  pony  by  the  bridle,  inside  the 
gate  :  and,  just  as  the  old  man  opens  the  door,  an  agile  foot  is 
on  the  stone  step,  and  a  voice,  which  is  ever  music  to  those 
aged  hearts,  prefaces  a  kiss  and  an  embrace  with  joyous  greet 
ings.  A  door  from  the  kitchen  suddenly  opens,  and  sister 
Laura  accosts  the  newly-arrived  with  homely  welcomings,  and 
ihe  inquiry,  what  brings  him  hither  so  unexpectedly  ;  a  trem 
ulous  voice  chiming  in,  "  Edward  is  always  welcome,  Chough  he 
takes  us  by  surprise."  All  this  passes  in  a  minute,  and  our 
traveller  recrosses  the  threshold,  saying  he  must  not  sit  till  he 
has  cared  for  his  horse.  "  Brother  James,  I  suppose,  is  yet  in 
the  field,"  "  Yes,  but  he  will  be  home  soon,  and  will  be  glad 
to  see  you,  too  ;  "  and  the  busy  housewife  vanishes,  intent  on 
her  table  cheen.  The  aged  father  totters  into  the  yard,  after 
his  son.  Once  more  that  placid  face  is  pressed  against  the 
window-pane,  and  the  last  ray  of  sunlight  falls  across  the  sil 
very  hair,  emblem  of  a  brighter  light,  inly  shining  at  the  close 
of  life's  eventful  day. 

While  the  boys  are  —  as  they  suppose  —  helping  their  uncle 
take  care  of  the  tired  horse,  and  grandpa  is  looking  on,  we  may 
aa  well  take  the  opportunity  to  state  that  the  personage  whoso 


LHE    IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  9 

arrival  makes  such  a  sensation,  is  the  Rev.  Edward  Vernoii, 
who,  eighteen  months  since,  was  ordained  to  the  work  of  the 
ministry,  and  installed  over  the  Congregational  Church  and 
Society  in  the  quiet  village  of  Salem,  some  thirty  miles  east 
ward,  in  the  valley  of  the  Connecticut.  He  is  the  youngest 
child  of  the  aged  couple  whom  we  find  at  the  old  homestead, 
—  not  as  the  active  head  of  the  household,  but  as  revered  mem 
bers  of  the  family  of  their  elder  son, —  the  two  families  having 
merged  in  one  upon  the  death  of  Edward's  only  sister,  a  few 
years  before.  To  obtain  enough  ready  money  from  the  small 
farm  to  send  a  boy  through  college,  required  the  utmost  effort 
of  both  father  and  son ;  but  they  toiled  together,  and  nobly 
accomplished  the  task.  And  now  that  Edward*  had  graduated 
with  honor,  and  was  settled  in  his  profession,  it  was  arranged, 
by  mutual  consent,  that  James  should  take  the  farm,  abide 
at  the  old  place,  smooth  the  declining  days  of  the  aged  pair, 
support  them  to  the  close,  and  consider  himself  lawful  owner 
of  whatever  might  be  left.  Edward's  education  was  to  be  his 
patrimony ;  and  it  was  more  precious  in  his  eyes  than  all  the 
goodly  fields  and  meadows  that  lay  around  his  birthplace.  'Not 
that  he  was  indifferent  to  these  ;  he  never  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  old  familiar  place  without  a  thrill,  such  as  no  other  spot  on 
earth  could  awaken  in  his  bosom.  This  very  evening,  as  he 
rode  up  the  green  avenue  to  the  farm-house,  he  had  indulged 
many  a  tender  recollection  ;  and,  as  he  led  his  horse  around 
to  the  stable,  he  would  have  relapsed  again  into  reverie,  —  for 
he  was  a  man  given  to  reveries,  —  had  it  not  been  for  the  noisy 
little  group  that  attended  him. 

"  Is  this  your  horse,  uncle  ?  " 

"  See  his  sharp  ears,  Harry.  What  do  you  ctdl  him,  uncle  ? 
Our  horse  is  as  big  as  three  of  him." 

"  Grandpa,  come  and  see  Uncle  Edward's  colt.  He  says  it  'a 
only  a  colt.  How  black  he  is !  " 

"  So  .you  have  really  bought  you  a  horse,  Edward  •  and  a 
pretty  young  one,  too." 


10  THE  SUADY^EIDE;   OR, 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  is  ratlier  younger  than  I  liked,  —  only  two,  last 
spring,  —  but  he  pleased  me,  and  I  shall  be  careful  of  him. 
He  has  brought  me  along  nobly  to-day,  though  I  have  walked 
up  the  hills." 

"  Well,  I  think  he  '11  do,  my  son,  a3  you  've  nobody  to  carry 
but  yourself." 

The  young  man  smiled ;  his  color  heightened  a  little,  and  he 
was  evidently  hesitating  what  to  reply,  when  a  voice  from  the 
meadow  shouted,  "  Holloa,  there  !  "  and  presently  a  cart,  laden 
with  yellow  pumpkins,  slowly  creaked  through  the  barn-yard. 
Its  driver  dropped  his  cart-whip,  and,  wiping  his  hands  on  a 
corner  of  his  brown  frock,  grasped  the  soft  palm  extended  to 
meet  his,  and  reluctantly  took  on  his  unshorn  cheek  the  prof 
fered  kiss.  Master  George  was  not  fur  behind ;  but  his  saluta 
tions  were  hurried  through,  as  little  Eddie  pulled  him  to  the 
stable,  which  seemed  the  centre  of  attraction,  now  that  the 
colt  was  duly  installed  there. 

"  Black,  is  he  ? "  said  George.  "  I  believe  it ;  he  's  as 
black  as  Pompey." 

"  0,  Uncle  Edward  !  "  said  his  little  namesake ;  "  I  wish 
you  would  call  this  horse,  —  I  mean  this  colt,  —  Pompey." 

"  And  who  is  Pompey,  pray  ?  " 

"  0  !  he  's  just  the  blackest  man  you  ever  saw,  —  right  from 
Guinea.  May  we  call  him  so  ?  " 

Their  uncle  smiled  approvingly  on  his  favorite ;  and  so  the 
name  of  the  young  minister's  horse  was  established,  according 
to  the  law  of  the  Medes  and  Persians,  which  changes  not. 

A  call  from  the  house  to  make  ready  for  supper  dispersed 
the  group ;  and  Edward  walked  with  his  father  slowly  in,  and 
took  the  arm-chair  by  his  mother's  side.  The  quick  perception 
of  the  mother  detected  an  unwonted  joy  in  those  deep  blue  eyes, 
now  bent  so  lovingly  on  her,  as  he  rested  his  elbow  on  her  chair, 
and  his  cheek  upon  his  hand.  She  fondly  put  back  the  brown 
ringlets  from  his  temple,  as  she  had  done  many  a  time  in  his 
boyhood,  and  said,  half-inquiringly,  "  I  have  not  seen  you  look  so 


LIFE    IX    A   CODNTKY    PARSON AOH  11 

happy,  Edward,  this  long,  long  time."  He  returned  her  gaze 
with  a  steady,  significant  look,  and  then  replied,  in  a  soft,  low 
tone,  "  Yes,  mother  dear,  I  perceive  you  are  reading  my  secret. 
I  have,  indeed,  a  new  source  of  happiness,  and  I  have  come  thus 
unexpectedly  to  tell  you  of  it.  I  know  you  will  rejoice  with  me 
in  my  newly-found  treasure,  even  as  we  wept  together  over  our 
common  loss,  when  dear  Abby  died."  A  tear  of  mingled  joy 
and  sadness  stole  down  that  furrowed  cheek,  and  she  warmly 
pressed  the  hand  which  now,  in  obedience  to  a  hurried  call,  led 
her  out  to  tea. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  A  fair  dwelling,  furnished  wisely,  with  a  gentle  tenant  in  it,  — 
This  is  the  glory  of  humanity." 

"  My  heart  sings  like  a  bird, 
At  sound  of  that  sweet  word, 
The  sweetest  ever  heard, 

Mary,  Mary." 

WE  next  find  the  family  group,  with  the  addition  of  a  fifth 
boy  taken  up  from  the  cradle,  assembled  in  the  old  north  room, 
the  old  people's  room,  for  evening  prayers.  A  stick  or  two 
of  dry  maple  is  burning  brightly  in  the  ample  fire-place,  for 
the  aged  are  keenly  sensitive  to  the  first  cool  evenings  of 
autumn.  Two  candles  are  lighted  on  the  mantel,  and  another 
on  the  little  stand  which  holds  the  family  Bible.  At  hia 
father's  request,  Edward  leads  the  devotions  of  the  hour.  Hav 
ing  read  a  Psalm,  they  all  kneel  at  the  family  altar,  while  the 
sacrifices  of  contrition  and  praise  are  laid  thereon,  and  incense 
and  a  pure  offering  ascend  to  heaven.  Who  shall  blame  those 
aged  Christians,  if  their  spirit  rise  to-night,  on  swifter  wing, 
toward  the  throne,  as  the  beloved  son,  whom  they  have  conse 
crated  to  a  holy  calling,  out  of  the  depths  of  a  rich  spiritual 
mind,  and  a  heart  full  of  all  tender  affections,  makes  known 


12  TUB  SHADY  SIDE;   en, 

their  requests  and  thanksgivings  unto  God  ?  Thus,  in  mercy, 
does  nature  sometimes  minister  unto  grace. 

The  children  now  bid  good-night,  and  their  mother  goes  out 
to  see  them  safely  pillowed.  It  is  the  time  for  which  Edward 
has  waited  to  divulge  his  errand  and  converse  upon  his  plans. 
And  so,  with  his  usual  good  sense,  he  opens  the  matter  without 
hesitation  and  without  reserve.  He  has  resolved  to  marry ; 
and  Providence  has,  in  his  view,  smiled  most  graciously  upon 
him.  The  elect  lady  is  Mary  Allison,  daughter  of  a  physician 
in  the  old,  aristocratic  town  of  Mayfield,  and  sister  of  Wm.  Alli 
son,  recently  appointed  to  the  Armenian  mission.  There  ai" 
two  other  children  in  the  family  by  a  previous  marriage,  one  of 
whom  is  a  merchant  in  New  York,  and  the  other  housekeeper 
for  her  father,  and  mistress  of  the  family,  since  the  death  of 
Mary's  mother,  ten  years  ago. 

Brother  James  inquires  after  the  pecuniary  interests  of  the 
family,  and  is  told  that  the  doctor  owns  a  beautiful  situation, 
but  is  dependent  upon  his  profession,  from  year  to  year,  which 
affords  him  hitherto  a  handsome  living. 

Sister  Laura  has  rejoined  the  circle,  and  is  impatient  to  learn 
some  particulars  of  the  young  lady  herself.  Not  being  bashful, 
she  plies  her  questions  in  a  direct  and  sententious  manner.  His 
replies  are  of  the  same  quality  : 

"  Is  she  handsome  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  heard  her  called  so  ;  no  " 

"  Light  complexion  ?  " 

"  Not  too  white." 

"  What  eyes  and  hair  ?  " 

"Soft,  hazel  eyes,  and  rich,  dark  chestnut  hair,  in  curls." 

"  Curls !  Ah  !  —  did  you  say  she  was  very  pale  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed ;  she  's  as  blooming  as  health  and  a  happy  spirit 
can  make  her." 

"  Gay,  is  she  ?  —  lively,  I  mean." 

"  She  is  cheerful  and  buoyant,  and  thinks  it  no  sin  to 
laugh  "  — 


LIFE    IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  13 

"  Is  she  tall  ? " 

"  I  really  cannot  tell.  I  think  she  must  be  of  that  ele 
gant  height,  where  you  would  add  nothing,  and  take  nothing 

away." 

"  I  suppose  it  just  suits  you,  then ;  but,  Edward,  you  are 
such  an  admirer  of  beauty,  it 's  a  pity  she  is  not  beautiful." 

(With  a  smile,)  "  Who  says  she  is  not  beautiful  ?  You 
inquired  if  she  were  handsome.  I  think  she  is  not  called  so." 

"  0  !  that's  it  ?     Well,  I  don't  see  any  difference." 

"  Any  more  questions,  sister  Laura  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  have  got  a  pretty  good  idea  of  her  now  ;  but "  — 

Brother  James  now  interposed. 

"  It 's  too  bad,  Laura.  Edward,  I  know,  will  think  you 
rude." 

"  Why,  has  'nt  he  come  over  on  purpose  to  tell  us  about  this 
affair  ?  I  know  he  expects  to  be  questioned." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Edward;  "  you  may  not  always  find  me  in  so 
communicative  a  mood." 

But  sister  Laura  had  some  misgivings  about  her  last  ques 
tion,  and  she  looked  very  inquiringly  at  him  a  full  minute,  first. 
At  length  it  came,  abruptly  : 

"  How  Old  is  this  Miss  Mary  Allison  ?  " 

For  the  first  time,  the  young  man  showed  some  embarrass 
ment  ;  and,  bracing  himself  as  if  to  meet  remonstrance,  replied 
that  she  was  eighteen. 

"  What !  Edward,"  said  old  Mr.  Vernon,  "  such  a  little  girl 
as  that  ?  " 

"  0,"  said  Laura,  "  he  's  only  fooling  us." 

"  No,  he 's  not,"  interrupted  the  kind  mother ;  "  but  we 
need  not  fear  that  Edward  would  agree  to  marry  one  who  is 
unsuitable  for  him.  Wisdom  and  goodness  do  not  depend  on 
age." 

"  No  ;  but  experience  does,  wife  ;  and  you  know  experience 
is  everything." 


14  THE    SHADY   SIDE  J     OR, 

No  one  replied,  and  conversation  flagged.  Sister  Laura'i 
fertile  brain  soon  started  a  new  track,  and  she  asked, 

"  When  does  the  wedding  come  off,  Edward  ?  " 

"  Really,"  said  he,  "  I  am  unable  to  tell  you.  I  expect  to 
ask  that  question  myself,  before  I  return  to  Salem." 

"  Do  your  people  know  of  your  engagement  ?  "  contin  ued 
the  questioner. 

"  Some  of  them  may  have  their  suspicions  awakened  by  my 
occasional  absences;  but  none,  except  my  landlady  and  her 
husband,  are  enlightened  on  the  subject.  To  them  I  have  con 
fided  my  secret,  and  it  is  safe."  Then  turning  to  his  father, 
who  had  not  spoken  in  some  time,  he  gayly  said, 

"  What  do  you  think,  sir,  of  my  purchasing  a  house  ?  " 

The  good  old  man  was  in  his  second  childhood,  and  somo- 
what  querulous.  He  curtly  answered,  "  When  you  do  so  fool 
ish  a  thing,  I  shall  think  you  are  not  in  your  right  mind." 

An  animated  discussion  followed,  in  which  all  agreed  that, 
as  a  general  thing,  it  was  unwise  for  a  young  minister  to  invest 
money  in  a  dwelling-house  ;  and  especially  unsafe  to  make  such 
a  purchase  without  means  of  present  payment.  Edward,  how 
ever,  was  sure  his  case  was  an  exception.  He  had  talked  con 
fidentially  with  Mr.  Cook,  in  whose  family  he  boarded,  who  was 
one  of  his  best  men,  and  well  acquainted  with  the  state  of  feel 
ing  in  the  parish.  It  was  his  opinion  that  the  society  would 
not  unite  in  building  a  parsonage.  There  was  only  one  vacant 
tenement  in  the  village,  —  a  good  house  near  the  church,  whose 
late  occupant  died  insolvent.  Mr.  C.  thought  it  a  favorable 
opportunity  to  secure  a  dwell'ng  for  the  minister ;  indeed,  it 
seemed  the  only  thing  to  be  done.  He  had  managed  the  busi 
ness  in  his  own  name,  and  obtained  the  refusal  of  the  place  at 
the  low  price  of  twelve  hundred  dollars.  It  was  a  place  which 
would  be  always  salable.  If  the  present  minister  should  leave 
Salem,  the  house  might  be  advantageously  rented  to  his  succes 
sor,  or  the  society  might,  by  that  time,  be  willing  to  buy  it  for 


Lli'E   IN    A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  15 

a  parsonage.  At  any  rate,  it  was  offered  now  at  so  low  a  sum 
that  there  could  be  little  risk  in  taking  it. 

So  plausible  did  this  statement  seem,  that  it  induced  the 
acquiescence  of  James  in  his  brother's  plan,  though  not  without 
some  misgiving,  while  their  father  assented  to  whatever  "  the 
boys "  should  think  best.  Yet  he  could  not  forbear  adding, 
significantly,  "  You  remember,  Mr.  Ely,  Edward,  and  the  fine 
house  for  which  he  paid  fifteen  hundred  dollars,  mostly  bor 
rowed  money,  and  which  he  was  obliged  to  sell  for  a  thousand, 
at  the  end  of  twelve  months." 

"  0,  his  case  was  peculiar ;  he  lost  his  hold  on  his  people, 
before  he  made  that  unwise  purchase,  and  ought  to  have  known 
that  he  could  not  reckon  on  staying  a  year." 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  soothingly,  "  I  did 'ut 
speak  of  that  to  tease  you.  But  come,  now,  tell  us  how  you 
expect  to  raise  the  twelve  hundred  for  your  house." 

To  this  the  young  man  replied  by  asking  advice.  If  he  buy 
the  place,  it  must  be  a  cash  purchase  as  there  are  creditors 
clamorous  for  the  money.  Out  of  his  salary  of  six  hundred 
dollars,  he  has  laid  by,  the  first  year,  three  hundred  and  fifty. 
The  savings  of  the  current  year,  thus  far,  will  increase  the  sum 
to  five  hundred,  and  leave  enough  to  pay  for  his  horse,  —  possi 
bly  to  buy  a  carriage.  But  the  other  seven  he  must  borrow  on 
the  strength  of  his  future  income. 

"  I  will  arrange  it  for  you,  brother,"  said  the  practical  young 
farmer.  "  Captain  N.  will  lend  the  money,  to  be  paid  in  annual 
instalments  of  a  hundred  dollars,  and  you  can  save  that  easily. 
I  will  give  my  name  as  surety." 

"  But,"  said  Edward,  "  will  he  not  want  other  security  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  sister  Laura,  laughingly,  "  not  while  '  Barnhill 
Lot '  is  ours.  It 's  the  only  piece  of  land  between  his  farm  and 
the  street,  and  he  is  always  teasing  father  and  James  to  sell  it 
to  him.  He'll  only  hope  that,  if  he  lends  you  the  money, 
you  '11  not  be  able  to  pay,  and  he  shall  somehow  or  other  get 
possession  of  that  field." 


10  THE  SHADY  SIDE;   OR, 

Edward  deprecated  the  suspicion  that  his  brother's  estate 
should  ever  become  involved  through  his  means,  which  elicited 
some  very  fraternal  sentiments  in  reply ;  and  so  the  family 
separated  for  the  night's  repose. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  There 's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 
Rough-hew  them  as  -we  will." 

"  Smitten  friends 
Are  angels  sent  on  errands  full  of  love." 

ANOTHER  day  and  night  quickly  passed,  and  when  the  sun 
arose  the  following  morning,  it  met  our  traveller  some  ten 
miles  on  his  homeward  way,  —  not  retracing  his  steps,  but 
bending  quite  circuitously  northward  toward  Mayfield. 

The  day  promises  to  be  a  warm  one  for  the  season,  and  he 
must  take  the  ride  leisurely  over  a  hilly  country.  While  he  is 
moving  slowly  down  the  hills,  and  walking  up  many  a  long 
ascent,  and  pacing  over  an  occasional  level,  halting  at  mid-day 
to  refresh  both  "  man  and  beast,"  let  us  take  the  opportunity  to 
run  back  a  distance,  and  gather  up  a  few  more  items  in  the 
past  history  of  this  youthful  ambassador  of  Christ. 

In  his  boyhood  we  find  him  intelligent,  ardent  and  impulsive, 
with  a  high  sense  of  honor,  and  a  quick  indignation  at  injustice, 
—  with  passions  easily  aroused,  and  contrition  as  quickly 
awakened,  —  the  angry  word  and  clenched  fist  followed  soon 
by  the  repentant  tear.  Love  of  books  and  of  sports  are  so 
nicely  balanced,  that  it  is  not  easy  to  predict  whether  he  will 
come  out  a  scholarly  or  a  pleasure-seeking  youth. 

As  he  enters  upon  his  teens  he  is  fitful  and  restless,  often 
expressing  a  distaste  for  solid  study,  wishing  Greek  and  Latin 
to  the  winds,  threatening  to  burn  his  Virgil  and  lose  his 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  17 

Reader,  and  making  the  most  of  every  holiday  for  amusement. 
Anon,  something  occasions  a  revulsion  of  feeling,  and  he  labors 
at  his  school-tasks  like  a  hero,  abridging  his  diversions  in  his 
close  application  to  books.  It  is  evident  that  he  is  unusually 
susceptible  to  impressions  from  without,  and  that  he  has  not 
yet  received  a  decisive  bias  in  the  shaping  of  his  future.  The 
influences  of  the  family  upon  him,  hitherto,  have  been  gentle, 
rather  than  stimulating.  His  brother  being  eight  years  his 
senior,  and  his  sister  five,  he  has  been  their  plaything  and  pet, 
—  a  child  to  be  watched  over  and  exempted  from  hardship ; 
not  impelled  up  the  rough  steep  of  science,  but  encouraged  by 
sympathetic  words  and  kind  smiles.  His  parents,  too,  thought 
he  was  studious  enough  for  a  boy  somewhat  slight  and  delicate. 
Though  his  father  resolved  to  give  him  a  collegiate  education, 
and  deep  in  his  mother's  heart  lay  the  cherished  purpose  to 
train  him  for  the  pulpit,  they  thought  there  was  time  enough 
yet  for  him  to  wake  up  in  earnest  to  the  pursuit  of  knowledge. 

But,  with  his  fifteenth  year,  a  new  era  dawned  in  the  history 
of  the  boy.  A  change  of  teachers  occurred  in  the  old  Academy. 
The  venerable  preceptor  retired,  and  was  succeeded  by  a  young 
student  fresh  from  his  graduating  honors  at  Yale.  He  was  a 
fine  scholar,  a  man  of  energy  and  talent,  and  destined  for  the 
bar. 

Accustomed  to  study  character,  he  could  not  fail  to  be  inter 
ested  in  a  boy  like  Edward  Vernon.  He  soon  understood  him 
thoroughly,  having  won  his  confidence  and  admiration.  He 
saw  in  him  latent  capabilities,  which  needed  only  a  motive- 
power  to  make  him  a  shining  man.  He  felt,  with  the  satisfac 
tion  which  always  attends  such  conscious  supremacy,  that  the 
springs  of  action  in  this  undeveloped  mind  were,  in  a  souse, 
under  his  own  hand,  —  that,  at  his  touch,  some  one  of  them 
would  f\sa  to  be  the  mainspring  of  the  .soul.  He  chose  — 
alas !  —  Ambition,  his  own  master-passion ;  and  he  did  his 
work  well. 

A  great  change,  came  over  Edward.  He  had  been  a  fair 
2* 


18  THE   SHADY   SIDE;    OR, 

scholar  while  without  aim  or  end.  Now  that  the  fire  of 
ambition  was  kindled  in  his  soul  and  his  diligence  was  the  fruit 
of  a  conscious  purpose  to  excel,  there  were  no  bounds  to  hia 
progress.  To  go  through  college  honorably,  and  study  law, 
was  the  model  course  ever  in  his  eye. 

He  met  with  little  counteraction  in  the  race  on  which  he 
now  entered.  His  brother  looked  upon  the  matter  as  a  sudden 
ebullition  of  boyish  zeal,  which  the  next  vacation  would  doubt 
less  cool.  His  mother  understood  him  better.  She  was  pleased 
to  see  him  more  studious,  yet  she  feared  for  his  health ;  and 
most  of  all,  she  instinctively  trembled  for  his  spiritual  interests, 
and  sighed  as  she  saw  a  new  barrier  rising  between  her  long- 
cherished  desire  and  its  fulfilment.  His  sister  Abby  entered 
with  all  her  soul  into  his  new  plans  and  feelings.  He  was  her 
darling,  —  her  pride ;  and  her  heart  beat  warmly  to  his,  in  all 
his  aspirations  for  the  future.  With  her  he  measured  his  prog 
ress,  and  before  her  fond  eyes  wove  his  bright  webs  of  coming 
triumph.  And  when  conscience  whispered  of  selfish  ambition, 
or  his  mother's  mild  admonition  crossed  his  path,  he  laid  this 
unction  to  his  soul,  that  to  please  his  dear  and  only  sister  was 
one  great  motive  in  climbing  to  the  temple  of  fame. 

Two  years  of  preparatory  study  passed  rapidly  away,  and 
Edward,  in  his  eighteenth  year,  entered  college,  and  took  a 
high  stand  in  his  class.  This  position  he  maintained  through 
out  his  course,  and  graduated  one  of  the  first  three.  He  was  a 
quick  mathematician,  a  fine  linguist,  and  a  good  writer.  Keeping 
his  chosen  profession  in  view,  he  had  improved  his  opportuni 
ties  for  declamation  with  great  success.  It  is  not  surprising, 
therefore,  that,  when  he  entered  the  law-school,  many  predicted 
for  him  a  brilliant  career.  He  himself  saw  before  him  an  open 
path  to  a  long-desired  goal. 

"  A  man's  heart  deviseth  his  way,  but  the  Lord  directeth  his 
steps."  Even  now,  influences  were  at  work  which  should  revo 
lutionize  our  young  friend's  course  in  life. 

A  cloud  had  settled  over  the  home  of  his  childhxid.     Hii 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  19 

cherished  sister  was  drooping  under  a  slow  decline.  With  the 
progress  of  disease  came  new  views  of  the  life  that  now  is,  and 
of  that  which  is  to  come.  Her  strong  sympathy  with  her 
brother's  ambitious  projects  was  displaced  by  the  one  deep 
desire  to  see  him  devoted,  heart  and  hand,  to  the  service  of 
Christ.  It  was  not  enough,  now,  that  he  was  virtuous,  moral, 
and  a  respecter  of  religious  things.  Her  wishes  and  prayers 
for  him,  and  pleadings  with  him,  could  not  stop  short  of  the 
renewing  grace  of  God. 

But  the  rebellious  heart  did  not  soon  or  easily  yield. 
Edward  remembered  his  mother's  prayers  through  all  his  child 
hood  ;  and,  though  she  had  never  told  him  so  in  words,  he  felt 
that  she  had  in  her  closet  dedicated  him  to  the  ministry. 
Hence  he  had  not  been  wholly  at  ease  since  the  choice  of  his 
profession.  An  unacknowledged  misgiving  had  lain  at  his  heart. 
When  his  impressible  nature  became  thoroughly  aroused,  under 
the  appeals  of  his  dying  sister,  and  the  Holy  Spirit  kindled 
within  him  convictions  of  ill-desert,  and  desires  for  reconcilia 
tion  with  God,  the  inward  struggle  was  greatly  prolonged.  He 
had  a  latent  feeling  that,  if  he  should  become  a  Christian,  duty 
might  require  him  to  serve  God  in  the  ministry.  To  abandon 
his  chosen  career,  just  opening  so  brightly  before  him,  promis 
ing  the  realization  of  his  youthful  visions  and  golden  dreams, 

—  this,  he  felt,  would  be  hard  indeed.     During  the  last  half 
of  his  first  year  of  professional  study  he  was  thus  tossed  to  and 
fro  on  the  unquiet  sea  of  conflicting  thoughts.     The  vacation 
that  followed  was  an  eventful  crisis.     In  the  quiet  of  a  sick 
room,  with  a  loved  object  fading  before  his  eyes,  he  read  daily 
lessons  which  cooled  the  fever  of  his  ambition,  and  gave  him 
juster  views  of  life.     In  that  calm  atmosphere,  where  patient 
endurance  and  holy  trust  and  heavenly  hope  were  mingled, 
the  youthful  aspirant  for  fame  laid  himself,  a  free-will  offering 
at  the  foot  of  the  Cross.     He  made  no  compromises,  no  reserve ; 

—  to  be  in  God's  hand,  and  subject  to  his  appointments,  wa? 
enough. 


20  THE   SHADY    SIDE  ;    OR, 

The  time  drew  near  for  Edward's  departure  to  resume  his 
studies.  The  last  morning  arrived,  and  as  yet  nothing  had 
been  said  of  his  future  plans.  It  was  a  season  of  quickened 
thought  and  emotion.  The  family  worship  was  just  concluded 
in  the  invalid's  room.  The  carriage  was  at  the  door,  waiting 
the  young  student's  leave-taking.  Ere  another  reunion  of  the 
family  group,  a  stern  messenger  was  liable  to  enter,  and  set  an 
icy  seal  on  those  lips  that  were  now  framing  tender  adieus  for 
him  who  had  been  her  pride  and  her  pet,  —  who  was  now  her 
beloved  brother  in  Christ.  She  still  retained  his  hand,  as  he 
turned  from  her  bed.  There  was  something  unsaid,  which  she 
would  find  courage  to  speak. 

"  Dear  Edward,  do  you  go  back  to  study  law,  or  will  you  b», 
a  preacher  of  the  Gospel  ?  " 

•  His  eye  turned  involuntarily  to  meet  his  mother's,  who  was 
standing  near.  Its  meek  pleading  told  him  how  much  her 
heart  also  was  in  Abby's  question. 

"  I  will  think  of  it,  —  I  will  write,"  was  all  he  could  reply, 
as  he  hurried  from  the  house,  with  their  parting  benedictions. 

Notwithstanding  much  thinking  by  the  way,  he  reached  the 
distant  city,  at  evening,  in  a  state  of  painful  incertitude.  Not 
that  he  was  unwilling  to  give  up  his  old  preferences  at  the  call 
of  duty  ;  but  it  was  not  easy  for  him,  in  this  instance,  to  deter 
mine  what  was  duty.  Were  not  good  men  —  men  of  high 
Christian  principle  —  needed  at  the  bar,  as  well  as  in  the  pul 
pit  ?  Might  not  his  turn  of  mind  and  habits  of  thought  be 
more  consonant  to  the  legal  profession  than  the  clerical  ?  But 
the  question  hinged  on  another  point,  —  was  he  called  of  God 
to  the  vocation  of  an  ambassador  of  Christ  ?  Without  such  an 
inward  call  to  the  holy  work  he  would  not  dare  assume  its 
responsibilities.  He  shut  himself  up  in  his  room,  and  there 
decided  the  matter,  on  his  knees  before  God,  solemnly  dedicat 
ing  himself  to  the  great  work  of  preaching  the  unsearchable 
riches  of  Christ.  The  satisfaction,  the  peace  of  soul,  the  new 
impulse  in  holy  living,  which  followed  this  decision,  greatly 


LIIB  IN   A   COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  21 

strengthened  his  belief  that  it  was  according  to  the  will  of 
God. 

Two  months  of  his  first  theological  term  had  passed,  when 
Edward  was  called  home  to  see  his  sister  die. 

So  slowly  did  life  ebb  away,  in  the  bosom  of  the  dying  girl, 
that  many  days  of  precious  converse  were  allowed,  making  that 
sick-room  as  the  gate  of  heaven  to  the  stricken  household. 
And  when  the  pure  spirit  took  its  flight,  it  seemed  to  Edward 
that  he  too  moved  upward  with  its  blessed  convoy,  till  he 
caught  glimpses  of  "  the  glory  unutterable  "  beyond  the  veil. 
Henceforth  the  memory  of  his  sainted  sister  was  interwoven, 
with  his  great  work  in  life,  and  beside  her  sleeping  clay  ho 
bound  himself  anew  to  the  service  of  his  Master. 

His  sister's  mantle  of  gentleness  and  grace  appeared  to  have 
faMen  upon  him ;  —  so  his  mother  thought,  as  he  caressingly 
soothed  her  grief,  and  whispered  words  that  were  balm  to  her 
aching  heart.  A  new  element  of  character  was  here  developed, 
which,  in  after  years,  gave  his  presence  an  unwonted  charm  in 
the  eyes  of  many  a  child  of  sorrow. 

Our  young  theologian's  course  through  the  seminary  was  far 
from  being  smooth.  He  suffered  much  from  ill  health,  the  result 
of  bis  former  close  application,  and  of  prolonged  nervous  excite 
ment,  while  balancing  the  great  question  of  probation,  and  pass 
ing  through  subsequent  scenes  of  trial  and  bereavement. 

With  his  physical  prostration  resolution  flagged,  intellect 
wearied,  and  the  whole  machinery  of  his  being*seemed  to  come 
to  a  stand.  He  could  not  study ;  —  he  complained  that  he 
could  not  think  ;  yet  thought  was  torturing  him  with  many  a 
suggestion  of  the  adversary.  Foremost  among  these  was  the 
withering  query,  "  May  I  not  be,  after  all,  mistaken  in  looking 
toward  the  ministry  ?  " 

His  intervals  of  relaxation  did,  indeed,  restore  him  to  a  com 
fortable  state  of  body  and  mind ;  so  that  his  study  terms  were 
commenced  with  hopefulness  and  vigor.  But  the  slough  was 
always  waiting  for  him  when  he  halted ;  and,  even  in  his  best 


22  THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OR, 

moods,  he  had  the  reproachful  consciousness  that  he  was  net 
making  the  most  of  himself,  and  should  fall  far  behind  the 
expectations  of  his  friends.  There  was  cause  for  this  conjec 
ture,  as  might  be  gathered  from  such  conversation  as  the  fol 
lowing,  among  a  knot  of  convivial  students  : 

"  I  say,  Dexter,  what  has  become  of  Vernon  ?  " 

"  Thrown  himself  away  ;  foolish  fellow  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?     "Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  Sunk  his  law-books,  and  gone  over  to  the  divinity-school." 

"He  was  a  fine  fellow,  —  would  have  made. a  splendid 
lawyer." 

"  Just  so ;  and  now  he  '11  only  make  a  splendiferous  — 
cipher." 

"  Not  so  fast,  Dexter,"  said  another ;  "  I  '11  be  bound  Ned 
Vernon  will  make  himself  count  anywhere." 

"  Humph  !  you  should  see  him,  as  I  saw  him  to-day,  coming 
from  lecture.  You'd  think  he  had  been  taking  a  nap  in 
Sleepy  Hollow." 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?     What 's  come  over  him  ?  " 

"  0,  he  had  better  stuck  to  his  profession !  He  's  lost  his 
ambition  ;  lost  a  sister,  too,  they  say ;  and  he  took  that  hardly. 
'T  was  she  persuaded  him  to  give  up  the  law.  Studying  the 
ology  !  —  bah  !  't  will  be  a  dead  loss." 

"  Too  great  a  sacrifice,  certainly.  Vernon  was  a  splendid 
scholar.  He  was  in  my  division,  you  know." 

Such  wise  discussions  as  this  a  theological  brother,  who  over 
heard,  was  weak  enough  to  report  to  the  subject  of  it ;  to  whom 
they  were  as  coals  to  burning  coals,  and  wood  to  fire. 

The  last  year  of  professional  study  was  passing  rapidly  away, 
and  with  more  profit  to  young  Vernon  than  any  which  pre 
ceded  it.  His  health  had  improved,  and  his  seasons  of  depres 
sion  were  less  frequent.  Now  was  the  time  to  bury  his  doubts 
and  fears  so  thoroughly  that  their  ghosts  shall  not  haunt  hia 
path  as  he  goes  to  his  field  of  toil.  He  resolved  to  investigate, 
and  examine,  and  settle  anew,  the  great  question  of  duty. 


LIFE    IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  "28 

Light  from  above  streamed  in  upon  his  mind.  Grace  from  the 
fountain  flowed  upon  his  heart.  Desire  kindled  to  a  burning 
glow  in  his  soul.  He  was  not  only  satisfied  with  his  choice,  but 
he  could  say  with  the  apostle,  —  "  Necessity  is  laid  upon  me, 
yea,  woe  is  me  if  I  preach  not  the  gospel."  His  humility  deep 
ened,  —  faith  took  a  strong  hold  of  the  promises,  —  hope  painted 
her  bow  across  the  future,  not  with  the  fading  hues  of  earth, 
but  with  pencil  dipped  in  the  enduring  tints  above.  Cheerful 
lie  girt  on  the  harness  for  a  life  of  toil,  and  longed  to  begin  his 
work. 

Nor  did  he  need  to  wait  much  for  employment.  As  soon  as 
licensed,  he  was  engaged  to  supply,  a  few  Sabbaths,  the  vacant 
pulpit  in  Salem.  When  a  unanimous  call  was  extended  him,  he 
accepted  with  little  hesitation,  being  strongly  advised  thereto 
by  his  theological  teacher  and  kind  friend,  Dr. . 

Esquire  Lewis  met  the  reverend  doctor  at  the  close  of  the 
ordination  service,  and  thanked  him  for  sending  them  so  prom 
ising  a  "candidate."  —  "Very  interesting  young  man,  doctor; 
we  calculate  he  '11  be  distinguished  yet ;  "  which  elicited  the 
reply,  "  He  is  and  always  will  be  an  interesting  man.  As  for 
the  other,  give  him  fair  play,  Esquire  Lewis,  and  he  will  make 
a  growing  man ;  over-work  him  the  first  year  or  two,  and  he 
will  be  apt  to  get  into  a  slough." 

"  Ay,  ay,  —  we  '11  take  care  of  that ;  it 's  for  our  interest, 
you  know ;  "  and  the  esquire  rubbed  his  hands  with  evident  sat 
isfaction  ;  and  the  council  departed,  and  the  people  dispersed, 
and  the  young  pastor  was  left  alone  with  his  field  of  toil. 

The  new  minister  was  willing  to  work,  —  his  whole  heart  was 
in  his  work,  —  and  the  Lord  gave  him  enough  to  do.  Religion 
soon  became  a  topic  of  absorbing  interest  throughout  the  com 
munity  ;  month  followed  month,  laden  with  testimonials  of 
God's  faithfulness  in  hearing  prayer,  and  blessing  the  word. 
Many  sinners  were  renewed  —  many  a  halting  saint  sent  on  his 
way  rejoicing. 

That  first  fourteen  months  of  his  ministry  was  a  memorable 


24  THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OR, 

period  in  the  history  of  Edward  Vernon.  Can  he  ever  doubt, 
again,  that  God  hath  called,  him,  putting  him  into  the  ministry, 
and  that  a  dispensation  of  the  gospel  is  committed  to  him  ? 

But,  precious  as  was  tins  attestation  of  his  mission,  his  phys 
ical  frame  felt  the  "  wear  and  tear  "  of  exhausting  service.  A 
reaction  was  coming  over  him ;  it  was  plain  that  he  needed 
rest.  It  was  happy  for  him  that  there  was  a  wise  gray  head 
in  Salem,  whose  word  was  seldom  disputed.  On  the  evening  of 
a  hot  Sabbath  in  June,  when  the  young  preacher  had  dragged 
wearily  through  two  sermons  and  a  Bible-class  exercise,  good 
Daacon  Ely  (dear  man  !  — was  there  ever  another  such  ?)  sad 
dled  his  old  mare,  and  rode  over  to  Mr.  Cook's.  "  Mr.  Ver 
non,"  said  he,  "  you  may  as  well  get  ready  to-morrow',  and  be 
off  somewhere  on  a  play-spell,  for  three  or  four  weeks.  Esquire 
Lewis  and  I  will  take  care  of  the  pulpit." 

That  first  vacation,  —  with  its  luxuriant  sense  of  freedom 
from  care,  of  time  for  rest,  of  leisure  for  social  converse  and 
miscellaneous  reading,  —  it  was  another  notable  era  in  his  life  ; 
a  green  spot,  to  which,  from  many  a  far-on  desert  place,  he 
looked  back  with  joy  and  gratitude  ;  memorable,  not  the  least, 
for  his  first  acquaintance  with  her  who  was  to  be  the  companion 
of  his  pilgrimage. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Ask  her  if,  when  storms  are  long, 
She  can  sing  a  cheerful  song  — 
When  the  rude  winds  rock  the  tree, 
If  she  "11  closer  cling  to  thee." 

WHILE  we  have  been  taking  this  too  leisurely  excursion  up 
the  stream  of  time,  it  has  kept  noiselessly  on  its  downward  flow 
to  the  setting  of  another  sun.  Our  horseman,  too,  has  travelled 
patiently  on,  and  the  tall  spires  of  Mayfield  now  shine  before 
him  in  the  distance,  like  burnished  gold,  as  they  catch  the  last 


LIFK   IN   A    COUNTUY    PAKSONAGE.  25 

rays  of  sunlight  from  the  unclouded  west.  At  this  sight  the 
young  man's  thoughts  suddenly  concentrated  on  one  point,  often 
revolved  during  his  solitary  ride :  "  How  will  my  request  for 
an  early  day  be  received  ?  Will  the  doctor  hearken  to  my  rea 
sons,  and  appreciate  my  condition  ?  How  will  the  staid,  house 
wifely  sister  regard  so  sudden  a  movement?  As  to  Mary  her 
self" —  Here  he  recollected  that  he  was  taking  her  by  surprise, 
—  making  his  first  unannounced  visit,  —  and  a  smile,  half-mis 
chievous,  half-expectant,  displaced  the  shade  of  anxious  thought ; 
he  drew  his  bridle-rein  more  firmly,  and  said  to  pony,  "  We  are 
almost  there." 

The  twilight  suddenly  deepens  as  he  enters  the  broad  street, 
lined  with  tall  old  trees,  whose  overhanging  branches  almost 
exclude  the  midduy  sun.  Were  he  in  some  of  his  wonted 
moods,  he  could  not  forbear  to  stop  and  enjoy  the  delicious  awe 
of  early  twilight  in  this  grand  alcove,  with  the  plaintive  music 
of  the  first  autumnal  breezes,  and  the  lone  note  of  the  whip- 
poorwill.  But  lie  is  too  intent  on  the  object  of  his  journey;  so 
he  pushes  on  a  quarter  of  a  mile  toward  the  upper  end  of  the 
street.  The  house  he  seeks  is  not  yet  lighted ;  he  does  not 
stop,  as  usual,  at  the  front  post,  but  rides  softly  under  the  old 
elm  to  the  side-gate,  and,  quietly  dismounting,  proceeds  cau 
tiously  along  the  carriage-track  toward  the  stables. 

It  is  evidently  his  purpose  to  gain  the  rear  unobserved.  But 
his  eye,  which  has  scanned  every  window  as  he  passed,  is  sud 
denly  arrested,  and  with  it  his  step.  How  can  he  but  pause 
and  look  at  a  well-known  figure,  sitting  in  the  recess  of  the 
library  window,  with  her  face  so  near  the  glass  that  the  dark 
curls  rest  upon  the  sash?  Were  she  not  completely  absorbed  in 
an  open  letter,  he  would  not  stand  so  near  her  unnoticed.  Shall 
ho  touch  the  window  with  his  riding-whip  ?  Ah  !  that"  is  not 
needed  now ;  she  has  become  aware  that  some  one  is  gazing  at 
her  from  without,  and  in  another  moment  she  sees  that  it  is 
Edward  Vernon.  He  notes  each  change  on  that  expressive 
face,  —  perplexity,  surprise,  delight.  She  does  not  utter  excia- 
3 


26  THE  SUAUY  SIDE;   ou, 

malions,  —  neither  of  them  speaks,  —  but  she  rises  suddenly, 
and  he  notes  many  letters  in  her  hands,  some  open,  others  in  a 
package.  He  is  at  no  loss  to  divine  their  author;  his  look, 
she  fancies,  proclaims  as  much.  He  touches  his  hat  gallantly, 
throws  her  a  respectful  kiss  from  the  tip  of  his  glove,  and  leads 
his  horse  slowly  by ;  while  she  tosses  back  her  curls,  shakes 
her  finger  threateningly  at  him,  and  reseats  herself  in  the 
window. 

Soon  a  stir  is  heard  in  the  house.  "  Mr.  Vernon  has  come ! " 
and  Dick  is  off  to  perform  his  duty  as  ostler. 

"Ann,  where 's  Mary?'' 

"  She 's  in  the  lib'ry ,  Miss  Allison.  I  Ve  told  her,  but  she 
doesn't  act  as  if  she  believed  it." 

Mr.  Vernon  is  soon  seated  in  the  back-parlor,  and  the  usual 
salutations  passed.  Miss  Allison  rises,  and  says  she  will  speak 
to  Mary.  She  finds  her  still  in  the  window-seat. 

"  Do  you  really  know  that  Edward  is  here  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  shall  understand  it  by-and-by." 

"  If  you  were  not  looking  so  happy,  one  would  think  this  an 
unpleasant  surprise.  Come  right  out  with  me ;  I  know  he  is 
impatient  to  see  you." 

The  roguish  girl  says,  he  can  wait  a  minute,  —  she  '11  be  out 
soon,  —  and  mentally  exclaims,  "How  do  I  know  but  he  has 
been  gazing  at  me  the  last  half  hour?" 

Sister  Harriet  goes  back,  saying,  "  I  think,  sir,  she  hardly 
realizes  that  you  are  here.'  His  peculiar  smile  puzzles  her ; 
she  inwardly  concludes  that  lovers  are  queer. 

"  Let  me  seek  her  in  the  library,"  replied  he ;  and,  stepping 
into  the  hall,  he  was  soon  at  the  further  end  of  the  passage,  and 
confronted  Mary  at  the  open  door,  just  as  she  closed  her  writing- 
case  on  the  package  of  letters  she  had  been  folding. 

"  Why  did  you  not  write  me  you  were  coming,  that  I  might 
be  ready  to  greet  you  ? "  —  (her  speaking  face  said,  "  that  I 
might  have  the  pleasure  of  expecting  you  ?  ") 

"  And  why  might  I  not,  for  once,  have  the  pleasure  of  sur- 


LIFE  IN   A   COUNTRY   PARSONAGB.  27 

prising  you  ?  Besides,  had  I  not  arrived  unexpectedly,  I 
should  not  have  known  how  you  employ  yourself  at  twilight. 
You  must  have  some  interesting  correspondence,  to  absorb  you 
so  much  in  a  re-perusal." 

"  0,  yes ! "  said  the  young  girl  archly ;  "  I  have  some  letters 
that  will  bear  a  second  reading,  —  brother  William's,  for  ex 
ample." 

This  tete-a-tete  was  interrupted  by  a  call  to  tea.  "Afterward 
came  a  quiet  evening,  —  all  too  short  for  the  much  that  was  to 
be  said  and  settled. 

Mary  was  not  prepared  for  the  request,  that  asked  the  con 
summation  of  her  plighted  faith  with  little  delay.  She  could 
tlii nk  of  many  reasons  why  it  was  not  best  or  wise.  It  would 
give  her  little  time  to  anticipate  it,  and  her  friends  brief  notice 
for  needful  preparation.  Her  brother  William  was  to  spend  as 
much  of  the  winter  at  home  as  possible,  and  it  was  his  last, 
previous  to  his  departure  from  the  country  to  his  field  of  mis 
sionary  toil.  She  could  not,  moreover,  be  unmindful  of  her 
youth  and  inexperience.  She  was  only  six  months  out  of 
school,  and  not  yet  initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  good  house 
wifery.  To  qualify  her  in  this  respect,  she  relied  on  the  com 
ing  winter,  under  the  tuition  of  her  expert,  matronly  sister. 

Besides,  if  visions  of  a  wedding  ever  floated  through  her 
brain,  they  were  of  a  bridal-hour  in  May,  'mid  the  genial  airs, 
and  fresh  verdure,  and  opening  rose-buds,  that  for  eighteen 
years  had  crowned  her  birth-day. 

The  period,  too,  of  her  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Yernon  was 
so  short,  —  only  four  brief  months/ — that,  except  just  after  a 
letter  or  a  visit,  he  seemed  too  much  like  a  new  acquaintance  to 
justify  the  near  approach  of  the  hour  that  should  make  them 
one.  Then  it  was  so  pleasant  to  be  a  child  at  home,  and  wateh 
for  his  coming;  to  meet  him  after  separation;  to  correspond 
with  him  when  absent;  to  be  absorbed  in  s-tudying  a  character 
which  unfolded  to  her  growing  admiration  and  sympathy.  How 
could  sho  have  this  delightful  order  of  things  interrupted? 


28  TUB   SHADY    SIDE  ',     OK, 

As  all  these  and  kindred  misgivings  passed  through  the 
young  girl's  mind,  some  of  them  were  distinctly  urged  before 
her  petitioner ;  and  others  left  for  him  to  catch  by  that  quick 
intuition  which  enabled  him  to  interpret  her  feelings  by  the 
slightest  clue. 

The  skilful  pleader  of  his  own  cause,  he  had  reserved  his 
arguments  to  follow  her  objections ;  and  he  addressed  himself  to 
the  work  with  a  smile  of  assurance  that  showed  him  somewhat 
confident  of  success. 

"  As  for  the  good  doctor  and  his  house-keeper,  he  would  take 
upon  himself  the  responsibility  of  securing  their  acquiescence 
in  his  wishes.  True,  it  would  be  pleasant  to  spend  a  winter  at 
home,  with  her  cherished  brother ;  but  his  time  will  be  broken 
up  by  his  preparations  to  leave  the  country.  They  can  ask 
him  to  divide  his  stay  between  Mayfield  and  Salem  ;  and,  as  the 
latter  place  is  nearer  his  business,  she  will  probably  see  about 
as  much  of  him  as  if  remaining  at  home.  William  is  not  to 
leave  till  the  last  of  April,  and  it  might  be  feared  that  a  wed 
ding  in  May  would  witness  a  tearful  bride. 

"  What  though  she  is  young?  —  he  is  willing  to  risk  her  inex 
perience.  Knowledge  of  household  duty  depends  not  so  much 
on  years  as  on  native  judgment  and  tact." 

With  delicate  ingenuity  he  draws  from  her  the  acknowledg 
ment  that  only  when  he  is  away  does  he  seem  to  her  like  a 
comparative  stranger.  In  his  presence  she  feels  as  if  she  bad 
known  him  long. 

He  playfully  assures  her  that  he  hopes  they  are  neither  of 
them  like  a  book,  with  a  "  finis  "  to  be  reached  after  turning 
a  few  leaves,  more  or  less,  but  a  life-long  study ;  and,  while  she 
is  marvelling  how  she  has  revealed  to  him  so  much  of  her  secret 
thoughts,  he  adds,  that  "  even  in  their  married  home,  she  will 
have  opportunities  to  expect  his  coming,  and  that  reunion  after 
absence  will  be  no  infrequent  joy." 

And  now  for  his  strong  reasons,  which  are,  mainly,  two. 
"  A  settled  minister  cannot  be  engaged  in  a  long  courtship, 


LIFB   IN  A  COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  29 

without  disadvantage  to  his  people.  The  matter  is  taken  up  on 
the  lips  of  talkers  —  gives  rise  to  unprofitable  speculations  — 
takes  him  too  frequently  from  home,  to  the  complaint  of  some 
who  miss  him  at  a  sick-bed,  or  a  funeral,  and  of  others,  who 
notice  the  deficiency  in  his  pulpit  preparations." 

Here  Mary  interposed.  "  She  was  sure  his  people  could  not 
complain  of  his  frequent  absence  on  such  an  errand;  he  had 
visited  her  only  four  times  in  the  three  months  since  his  vaca 
tion."  "  But,"  he  told  her,  "  she  was  taking  no  account  of  the 
times  he  came  invisibly;  that,  when  absent  in  spirit  from 
his  study  and  his  parish,  bodily  presence  profited  little,  and  his 
pulpit  was  almost  sure  to  proclaim  it  on  the  Sabbath.  It  cer 
tainly  was  for  the  edification  of  his  people  that  this  matter  bo 
speedily  settled." 

"  And  his  other  reason,  which  he  judged  might  have  some 
weight,  was  his  own  personal  need  of  the  daily  solace  and  sup 
port  of  his  chosen  companion.  He  had  worked  hard  in  his  field 
of  labor ;  he  had  not  recovered  the  elasticity  lost  by  being 
overtasked;  he  was  wayworn,  alone,  and  often  dispirited;  he 
needed  the  sanctuary  of  home  as  a  place  of  refuge  ;  he  wanted 
the  steady  light  of  a  cheerful  kindred  spirit,  to  disperse  the 
clouds  which  threatened  to  gather  over  him ;  he  was  all  the 
while  losing  ground  by  delay ;  and,  if  he  should  fall  into  one 
of  his  old  '  seminary '  moods,  there  was  but  one  harp  that 
could  cast  the  evil  spirit  out,  and  he  did  not  wish  that  to  bo 
played  for  such  an  end." 

If  Mary,  at  first,  shook  her  head  incredulously,  she  was  now 
persuaded  that,  so  far  as  his  duty  and  interest  were  concerned, 
he  was  right.  Though  a  tear  twinkled  in  her  eye,  she  assumed 
a  mischievous  smile ;  and,  avoiding  his  glance,  which  she  thought 
was  looking  too  deeply  into  her  heart,  she  told  Mr.  Edward 
Vernon  that  "she  might  have  known  when  aminister  asked  for 
her  hand,  that  there  would  be  '  a  people '  somewhere  to  be  taken 
into  the  account,  in  deciding  questions  of  duty  and  propriety. 
If,  therefore,  she  waived  her  objections,  and  let  him  arrange 
3* 


80  THE   SHADY    SIDE;     OR, 

matters  as  he  liked,  he  need  not  consider  it  a  tribute  to  himself, 
but  her  first  concession  to  his  office.  Henceforth  she  should 
expect  to  yield  to  the  claims  of  the  profession — only  when  she 
chose  to  have  her  own  way." 

Much  more  she  was  gayly  saying,  in  the  same  vein,  but  Ed 
ward  looked  at  her  abstractedly,  and  grew  quite  serious.  A 
new  train  of  thought  was  started  in  his  mind.  "  Was  it  not 
possible  that  he  was  introducing  this  bright  young  creature, 
with  her  quick  conscientiousness  and  her  ardent  response  to 
duty,  into  a  life,  in  some  sense,  of  self-sacrifice  to  an  arduous 
and  much-exacting  profession  ?  Was  it  right  to  take  her,  in 
the  fresh  dew  of  youth,  from  her  father's  hearth,  where  she 
had  been  sedulously  shielded  and  cherished,  to  link  her  destiny 
henceforth  with  one  whose  path  must  lie,  much  of  it,  on  the 
open  heath,  or  rugged  steep,  beneath  burning  suns  and  sweep 
ing  storms  ?  " 

He  looked  so  tenderly  and  anxiously  upon  her,  that  she  ques 
tioned  him  of  his  thoughts,  and  he  gave  her  the  clue  by  asking 
if  she  would  not  much  rather  have  found  a  companion  in  some 
other  walk  of  life. 

She  tried  to  laugh,  and  inquired  if  the  old  strife  between  law 
and  theology  was  about  to  be  revived.  He  told  her,  "  No  ;  it 
was  for  her  sake,  simply,  he  asked  the  question.  The  life  of  a 
minister  was  one  of  peculiar  trials,  in  which  his  wife  must 
inevitably  share." 

His  evident  depth  of  feeling  checked  her  playfulness,  while 
she  reiterated  her  sympathy  in  his  choice  of  professions.  She 
would  have  been  content,  indeed,  to  walk  through  life  with 
him  in  any  path  he  might  have  chosen ;  but  she  was  sat 
isfied  he  was  in  just  the  sphere  he  was  designed  to  fill.  The 
ministry  was  a  noble  work.  She  thought  it  not  a  hardship,  but 
a  privilege,  to  join  him  in  it.  She  wished  she  were  equally 
sure  of  her  ability. 

"  But,  when  trials  come,  will  you  not  look  back,  regret- 


* 

LIFE   IN   A    COUNTUY    PARSONAGE.  81 

ful  on  this  dour  home  where  your  days  have  passed  so 
smoothly  ? " 

"  0,  Edward  !  "  said  she,  half-reproachfully ;  and  then,  smil 
ing,  added,  "  I  do  not  anticipate  such  an  amount  of  difficulty. 
Things  that  look  formidable  to  you,  alone,  perhaps  will  seem 
trifling  when  we  meet  them  together.  But  let  that  be  as  it 
will,  if  I  may  only  do  some  good,  I  will  not  mind  the  trial 
—  with  you." 

The  young  minister  felt  reassured,  as  he  looked  down  on 
that  earnest  face,  from  whose  brow  of  high  resolve,  and  soft, 
clear  eje,  and  mouth  expressive  of  mingled  gentleness,  endur 
ance  and  cheerful  trust,  might  be  traced  the  elements  of  the 
heroic  Christian  woman. 

The  evening  was  far  spent,  when  Mr.  Vernon  suddenly 
remembered  that  he  must  be  in  his  saddle  at  an  early  hour  in 
the  morning.  It  might,  therefore,  be  wise  to  confer  with  his 
future  father,  before  he  slept.  He  rose  to  seek  him  in  the 
library,  yet  lingered  to  remind  Mary  that  she  had  only  con 
sented  to  the  present  month,  without  naming  the  day.  She 
gave  him  her  pocket  companion,  —  "Daily  Food,"  —  and 
asked  him  to  look  for  a  marked  date  in  October.  He  colored 
slightly  as  he  found  the  30th,  with  the  initials  E.  V.  He  did 
not  know  how  easily  curious  girls  get  access  to  sources  of 
information  on  such  topics.  He  was  well  pleased,  however,  to 
be  married  on  his  twenty-eighth  birthday,  and  he  reported  to 
the  dtwtor  their  united  wishes  to  this  effect. 

The  proposal  was  more  graciously  entertained  than  he  had 
hoped.  Dr.  Allison  was  a  sensible  man,  and  appreciated  fully 
the  situation  of  the  young  clergyman. 

"  He  had  hoped  to  keep  Mary  with  him  a  few  years  longer; 
but,  if  it  seemed  best,  he  was  willing  to  give  her  up.  The 
worst  struggle  with  himself  was  already  over.  It  was  when 
he  found  another,  and  one  hitherto  a  stranger,  held  the  first 
place  in  that  young  heart  which  had  ever  given  him  its  best 


82  THE   SHADY   SIDE ;     OR, 

earthly  love.  He  was  astonished  at  his  own  selfishness ;  he  con 
fessed,  it  cost  him  a  great  struggle." 

"  Mary  is  young,"  he  added,  "  yet  she  has  always  been,  with 
all  her  playfulness,  mature  beyond  her  years;  and,  if  she 
makes  as  good  a  wife  as  daughter,  you  will  have  no  reason  to 
complain." 

During  this  quiet  interview  in  the  library,  Miss  Allison  had 
sought  her  sister  in  the  parlor,  and,  learning  the  state  of  things, 
was  loud  in  her  protestations  against  "  such  hasty  proceedings." 

"  Get  ready  for  a  wedding  and  for  house-keeping  in  less  than 
four  weeks !  It  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  Besides,  Mary,  what 
do  you  know  of  house-keeping  ?  0,  it  is  so  foolish  !  and  you 
so  young  !  You  little  know  what  it  is  to  have  any  care  ;  and 
then,  your  poor  father,  what  will  he  do  without  you  ?  It  will 
be  so  sudden  to  him,  —  and  William  going  so  soon !  " 

The  tears  were  in  Mary's  throat,  but  she  choked  them  down, 
as  she  heard  returning  footsteps  towards  the  parlor.  The  wise 
sister  turned  now  to  the  gentlemen,  and  told  Mr.  Vernon  he 
did  not  know  what  trouble  he  was  bringing  upon  himself. 
"  Why,  sir,"  said  she,  waxing  warm,  "  this  child  is  n't  fit  to 
take  care  of  you,  this  twelve-month.  She  has  never  made  a 
toaf  of  bread.  I  doubt  whether  she  would  get  you  up  a  decent 
dinner.  She  has  not  yet  looked  into  the  mysteries  of  starch 
and  smoothing-irons.  She  sometimes  makes  a  little  cake,  or 
pastry,  but  she  would  not  know  when  her  oven  was  hot,  or  her 
pies  baked.  She  'd  make  fifty  mistakes  a  week.  You  can't 
think  of  it.  Take  my  advice,  and  leave  her  under  my  hand  a 
year.  I  '11  engage  to  turn  her  out  a  good  house-keeper.  Very 
important,  Mr.  Vernon,  for  a  minister  to  have  a  wife  that 
knows  how  "  — 

"  0,"  said  he,  quite  unmoved,  "  this  thing  comes  from  good 
judgment  and  observation.  Mary,  having  had  so  good  an 
example  before  her  eyes,  will  go  on  as  if  by  instinct.  I  have 
no  fear  about  that." 

"  Well,  how  should  you  know  anything  about  it  ?    She  ought 


LIFE    IN    A    COUNTUY    PAUSONAGB.  83 

to  know  that  it  is  one  thing  to  see  others  go  on  right,  and  quito 
another  to  undertake  herself  alone.  It 's  the  practice  she 
\\ants.  She  might  remember  how  some  things  are  done  at 
home,  but  she  must  do  them  with  her  own  hands,  to  know 
how." 

"  Well,  suppose  that,  considering  her  home-advantages,  I 
am  willing  to  run  the  risk  of  it ;  and  that  she  consents  to 
begin  under  this  disadvantage,  to  save  the  inconvenience  and 
trouble  ?  " 

A  quick  reply  was  forthcoming,  when  the  doctor  laid  his 
hand  on  his  daughter  Harriet's  shoulder,  and  told  her  that  "the 
thing  being  decided,  we  have  only  to  make  the  best  of  it.  Be 
sides,  you  are  a  little  in  fault  here.  You  have  been  over- 
indulgent  to  Mary,  or  she  would  not  be  found,  at  eighteen^ 
quite  so  ignorant  of  domestic  matters  as  your  words  imply.  I 
believe,  however,  she  has  no  foolish  prejudice  against  this  class 
of  duties.  Her  inexperience  may  cause  her  some  discomfort, 
but  she  will,  without  doubt,  acquire  skill.  I  foresee  I  must 
spare  you,  to  begin  with  her  and  set  her  out  straight." 

These  words  had  a  very  lubricating  effect,  and  Miss  Allison 
—  for  she  was  a  very  energetic  person  —  entered  warmly  into 
certain  plans  and  arrangements  in  reference  to  the  important 
era  so  near  at  hand.  She  even  listened  with  silent  attention 
to  Mr.  Vernon's  history  of  his  measures  to  secure  a  house  in 
Salem,  and  to  his  expressed  purpose  to  take  possession  by  the 
midWe  of  November,  allowing  two  weeks  only  for  a  wedding 
tour.  But,  though  silent,  she  was  not  meanwhile  inactive. 
Her  fertile  brain  was  busy  in  projecting,  computing  and  devis 
ing,  —  maintaining  its  equipoise  'mid  such  an  influx  of  hetero 
geneous  materials  as  fill  out  the  elaborate  advertisement  of  some 
"  dry  goods  and  grocery  establishment,"  and  as  would  totally 
inundate  and  overset  a  less  evenly  balanced  mind. 

Mary,  who  always  has  a  thought  for  others,  finds  time  tc 
inquire  after  a  poor,  sick  woman,  whom  Edward  in  his  last  let 
ter  spoke  of  visiting;  also,  if  there  were  any  new  developments 


84  THE   SHADY    SIDE  ;    OR, 

in  the  religious  character  of  Esquire  Lewia'  daughters,  about 
whom  the  young  pastor  had  expressed  some  solicitude.  She  learns 
that  Widow  Harrison  is  still  spared  to  pray,  and  that  the  Misses 
Lewis  continue  attentive  to  the  externals  of  a  Christian  life. 
Perhaps  he  has  wronged  them  by  his  doubt.  He  should  think 
of  expressing  it  to  no  one  but  his  other  self. 

The  evening  had  passed  rapidly  on  near  to  the  midnight 
hour,  as  Miss  Allison  gave  her  last  look  at  the  preparations  for 
early  breakfast,  and  hastened  toward  her  chamber.  She  thought 
herself  the  last  to  retire ;  but,  as  she  stepped  into  the  hall,  a 
light  was  burning  in  the  library,  and  her  father  was  sitting  just 
as  Mary  had  left  him,  a  half  hour  since,  with  her  good-night 
kiss.  He  looked  absorbed  and  anxious.  She  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  surprise  that  he  had  not  gone  to  his  room,  and 
added,  "  This  sudden  marriage  troubles  you,  father.  Well,  I 
do  not  wonder.  Mary  seems  to  us  a  mere  child ;  and  she  is 
too  young.  We  may  well  have  some  fears  on  her  account." 

"  Yes,  Harriet ;  I  would  rather  she  were  two  years  older; 
but  then  she  is  plastic,  and  will  be  the  more  easily  assimilated 
to  her  new  sphere  and  relationships.  Pier  youth,  on  the  whole, 
does  not  much  disturb  me.  I  was  thinking  of  him,  —  of 
Edward ;  he  is  very  sensitive,  —  somewhat  morbidly  so,  I 
judge." 

"  I  have  n't  noticed  it.  He  always  seems  to  take  in  good 
part  my  plain  way  of  speaking.  He  was  cool  enough,  tonight, 
when  I  spoke  so  warmly  against  his  plans.  I  think  you  must 
judge  from  the  bumps;  —  ho  has  rather  a  peculiar  head." 

"  No ;  I  am  more  of  a  physiognomist,  you  know ;  and  his 
face  is  quite  a  study.  I  can-not  be  mistaken  in  the  full,  humid 
eye,  pensive  in  repose;  the  finely-curved,  full,  flexible  lip, 
tremulous  with  every  changing  emotion ;  in  the  reaction  that 
follows  every  flush  of  excited  feeling,  I  feel  it,  too,  when  con 
versing  with  him,  in  his  quick  detection  and  discrimination  of 
my  own  varying  shades  of  emotion.  I  am  often  unconscious  of 
some  variation  of  feeling  till  he  responds  to  it  by  the  curl  of 


LIFE   IN    A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  85 

his  lip,  or  the  flash  of  his  eye.  He  is  like  a  thermometer, — 
up  or  down  with  the  atmosphere.  I  wish,  for  his  own  sake 
and  for  Mary's,  that  his  sensibilities  were  less  exquisite." 

"  Why,  Mary  is  just  the  one  to  sympathize  with  such  a 
nature.  You  have  always  said  she  had  a  world  of  sensi 
bility.  She  will  understand  him  and  feel  for  him.  I 
should  n't  worry  about  that ;"  and  the  turned  away  with  a 
"good-night." 

"  Feel  for  him !  yes,  and  with  him,  —  too  exquisitely,  I  fear, 
for  her  own  happiness.  But  that  I  must  trust  to  her  best 
Friend;"  and  in  his  heart  he  folded  his  darling  the  more 
closely,  and,  with  his  blessing  on  her,  struggled  up  the  unspoken, 
yet  fervent  wish,  "  0,  that  I  could  enfold  thee  here,  while  I 
live,  and  shield  thee  thus  from  the  roughnesses  of  life !  " 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  A  prize  to  bo  contested  by  the  skill 
Of  mothers  and  their  daughters." 

"  My  son,  of  muckle  speaking  ill  advised,  • 

And  where  a  little  speaking  had  sufficed, 
Cometh  muckle  harm.     This  was  told  mo  and  taught  DM  — 
In  muckle  speaking,  sinning  wanteth  not." 

"  Rumor,  in  temporary  things,  is  gigantic." 

THE  young  pastor  returned  to  Salem,  to  find  his  locret 
known,  and  his  usually  quiet  parish  in  somewhat  of  a  ferment. 

Esther  Ann  Brooks,  the  milliner,  had  been  to  the  city,  for 
the  fall  fashions,  and  come  home  with  important  news.  In  the 
shop  where  she  traded  was  an  apprentice,  lately  come  from 
Plympton,  who  had  a  sister  doing  housework  in  Mayfield,  an 
adjoining  town.  She  lived  close  by  Dr.  Allison's,  and  knew  of 
hia  daughter's  engagement  to  the  Salem  minister.  She  had 


36  THE   SHADY    SIDE  J    OR, 

been  home  on  a  visit,  and,  for  want  of  other  topics,  had  detailed 
this  latest  news  from  Mayfield ;  exhausting  nil  that  was  known 
and  conjectured,  and  drawing  on  her  imagination  for  enough  to 
fill  out  a  good  story.  The  shop-girl  remembered  the  Salem 
milliner,  and  laid  up  the  precious  piece  of  gossip  till  she  should 
see  her  at  No.  7  Blonde-street. 

Finding  Esther  Ann  with  both  ears  open,  she  imparted  all 
she  had  received,  with  her  own  speculations  thereon.  By  the 
time  the  ball  had  rolled  on  to  Salem,  it  was  grown  quite  for 
midable  in  size,  with  its  small  admixture  of  truth  very  inge 
niously  distributed  throughout  its  staple  commodity,  exaggeration 
and  error. 

Esther  Ann's  little  brown  shop  wa?  now  the  centre  of  attrac 
tion,  not  so  much  on  account  of  its  new  millinery  as  of  the 
information  there  dispensed  on  the  subject  of  the  young  minis 
ter's  "  matrimonials."  Almost  every  one  was  taken  by  sur 
prise.  Some,  who  had  benevolently  selected  for  him,  were  not 
a  little  piqued.  A  few,  who  had  still  nearer  hopes,  sighed  as 
they  were  thus  dashed  at  a  single  stroke. 

Esquire  Lewis'  daughters  were  among  the  first  that  called,  and 
they  were  not  easily  suited  in  the  choice  of  bonnets.  One 
after  another  was  examined  and  rejected,  being  used  as  foils  to 
hide  their  excessive  interest  in  the  one  topic  on  which  they 
resolved  to  pump  Miss  Brooks  dry. 

"  You  are  sure  this  report  is  true  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  sure  of  it  [that  bonnet,  Miss  Lucrctia,  is  a  good 
fitj,  for  the  girl  said,  her  sister  saw  him  every  time  he  came. 
He  has  visited  her  ever  since  last  June  [there,  the  brim  wants 
raising  a  little.  I  can  lap  it  under  the  crown].  He  met  her 
first  away  from  home,  —  somewhere  she  was  visiting,  —  that 
time  he  was  gone  so  long,  you  remember." 

"  Let  me  look  at  that  drawn  silk.  What  did  you  hear  of  the 
family,  Bather  Ann  ?  " 

"Well,  as  good  as  any  in  Mayfield;  —  hold  their  heads 
pretty  high,  I  guess  [that  white  straw,  Miss  Helen,  will  look 


LIFE    IN    A   COUNTRY    PAKSONAOE.  37 

sweotly  on  you].  The  girl  said,  her  sister  said,  she  heard  the 
gentleman  where  she  lived  say,  that  the  doctor  was  a  clever 
man,  and  the  girl  well  enough ;  but  he  had  a  son  in  New  York 
[the  price  of  that  is  three  dollars],  —  a  half-brother  of  hers  in 
New  York  was  a  slippery  kind  of  a  man  ,  —  lived  in  dashing 
style.  If  his  debts  were  paid  he  would  n't  own  a  cent." 

"  I  don't  quite  like  this  white  straw,  Esther  Ann.  What 
more  did  you  hear  of  the  young  lady  herself?  " 

"  [Try  this  French  lace.]  Not  much,  except  what  I  told  you. 
She  's  young  and  pretty  ;  has  always  been  kept  at  school  [there, 
that 's  a  complete  fit.  Just  look  in  the  glass]." 

"  Never  mind ;  finish  what  you  were  saying." 

"  They  say  her  father  has  been  very  choice  of  her,  because 
she  lost  her  mother  so  young ;  and  he 's  brought  her  up  tc 
books,  and  music,  and  drawing,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.' 
The  young  ladies  winked  to  each  other  under  the  shield  of 
the  bonnets.  "  That  girl's  sister  did  n't  seem  to  like  her  much. 
She  said  there  were  some  families  in  Mayfield  that  thought 
hired  girls  good  enough  to  associate  with  anybody ;  but  she  had 
lived  six  months  right  over  the  way  from  Dr.  Allison's,  and 
had  not  been  able  to  get  acquainted  with  Miss  Mary.  She 
said  she  was  always  flaunted  out  with  her  neck  full  of  curls. 
She  '11  have  to  put  'ein  up  now,  I  guess  [will  you  take  those 
two  bonnets?]." 

"  You  may  lay  them  aside.  We  '11  not  conclude  till  mother 
lias  been  in  and  looked  at  them.  You  did  n't  hear  when  tho 
wedding  is  to  come  off,  did  you?  " 

"  No ;  they  guessed  not  in  some  time, —  she  is  so  young ;  but 
I  find  some  folks  here  think  he  has  gone  now  to  make  arrange 
ments." 

"  0,  no ;  he  has  gone  to  his  father's." 

"  Well,  you  know  the  Whitman  place  is  to  be  sold;  and  they 

say  Mr.  Cook  talks  of  buying  it.     Since   this  thing  has  como 

out,  many  think  Mr.  Cook   is  trying  to  get  the  place  for  Mr 

Veruon.     What  would   ho  waat   of  another  house   himself! 

4 


38  THE   8UADY   SIDE  J    OB, 

Miss  Lcevy  asked  him  about  it,  yesterday ;  and  he  told  her,  if 
he  purchased  it,  there  would  be  some  one  in  this  fall.  I  hope 
Leevy  will  give  it  up  now.  She 's  tried  hard  enough  to  catch 
him." 

The  Misses  Lewis  could  hear  no  more,  but  bit  their  lips  for 
vexation,  and  went  home  to  report  to  their  intriguing  mania. 
Mrs.  Lewis  was  not  prepared  for  the  failure  of  her  deep-laid 
schemes.  She  had  withdrawn  her  daughters  from  gay  society, 
taken  them  to  hear  every  sermon,  sent  them  to  all  the  prayer- 
meetings,  drawn  them  in  to  the  circle  of  inquirers,  rejoiced  over 
their  growing  interest  in  religious  things,  encouraged  them  to 
make  an  early  profession  of  their  faith,  as  fruits  of  the  revival ; 
and  now  to  be  disappointed  thus  !  Between  the  two,  she  had 
thought  herself  secure.  Lucretia  was  of  just  the  right  age,  — 
twenty-five.  Helen,  she  knew,  was  very  pleasing,  though  she 
had  supposed  her  too  young ;  yet  she  was  nineteen  last  month. 

She  tried  to  vent  her  disappointment  in  displeasure  at  the 
innocent  cause  of  it.  "  She  would  not  have  believed  Mr.  Ver- 
non  such  a  deceitful  man ;  —  coming  here,  so  pleasantly,  week 
after  week;  so  many  interviews  as  he  had  had  alone  with 
Lucretia,  and  so  ready  as  he  had  been  to  ride  in  their  carriage 
to  the  neighborhood  meetings.  It  was  too  bad.  He  could  not 
be  the  man  she  had  thought  him." 

And  there  were  others  to  echo  this  "  too  bad."  There  was 
the  shrewd,  match-making  Mrs.  Pritchard,  who  had  recom 
mended  no  less  than  three  of  her  favorites  to  Mr  Vernon. 
Another  lady  of  the  parish  had  boarded  a  niece  from  the  city 
two  summers,  with  an  eye  to  the  cultivation  of  a  special 
acquaintance.  No  wonder  she  felt  injured  ! 

Poor  Olivia  Cook,  or  "  Miss  Leevy,"  as  she  was  generally 
called,  took  the  matter  most  to  heart.  She  was  a  maiden  of 
twenty-eight,  with  many  good  qualities,  yet  placed  by  circum 
stances  on  the  very  verge  of  that  unenviable  position  in  societ" 
which  exposes  one  to*-the  derisive  appellation  of  "  spinster. 
Like  many  others  of  this  much-abused  class,  she  was  once  a 


LIFE   IN    A  COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  39 

bright  young  girl  in  a  happy  home  ;  but,  early  deprived  of  nat 
ural  guardians,  and  thrown  on  her  own  resources  for  a  mainten 
ance,  sho  had  gone  as  seamstress  from  house  to  house  these 
many  years,  during  all  of  which  she  was  supposed  to  be  on  the 
look-out  for  a  settlement  in  life.  And  what  harm  in  this  fact, 
einiply ?  Her  wandering  life  gave  to  the  word  "  home  "  a 
double  charm,  and  she  was  consciously  qualified  for  an  indus 
trious,  frugal,  and  loving  wife.  Why  should  she  be  ridiculed 
for  coveting  the  relation  ? 

Miss  Leevy  had  for  some  time  been  quite  literary  and  theo 
logical  in  her  tastes.  Indeed,  it  was  said  she  might  once  or 
twice  have  had  a  comfortable  home,  if  she  had  not  aspired  to  a 
parsonage.  She  was  a  niece  of  Deacon  Ely's  wife  ;  and,  as  hia 
house  was  her  head-quarters,  she  saw  a  good  deal  of  ministerial 
company  during  the  long  interregnum  that  preceded  the  ordina 
tion  of  Mr.  A^ernon.  With  him  she  assiduously  cultivated  ac 
quaintance,  and  made  herself  at  times  quite  agreeable.  She 
was  active  during  the  revival ;  and,  though  often  officious,  he 
felt  that  she  had  at  heart  the  welfare  of  the  Redeemer's  cause. 
In  the  Sabbath-school  and  praying-circle  she  was  ever  at  her 
post.  True,  she  might  be  thought  to  overstep  the  bounds  of 
maidenly  reserve,  in  her  frequent  visits  at  Mr.  Vernon's  board 
ing-place  ;  but  Mr.  Cook  was  her  "  second  cousin,"  and  she  hao 
always  been  in  the  habit  of  calling  there.  That  she  should 
feel  a  deep  and  growing  regard  for  her  minister  —  and  such  a 
man,  too  —  was  natural  enough.  That  she  had  any  special 
expectations  from  him,  she  would  not  allow  to  her  own  tnoughts. 
That  he  had  become  the  centre  of  her  thoughts,  and  hopes,  and 
movements,  she  was  not  aware  till  this  fatal  rumor  reached  her 
ear.  Was  she  not  to  be  pitied  ?  Yet  for  cases  like  this  soci 
ety  has  no  pity,  —  it  has  only  caustic  words,  or  careless  laugh 
ter. 

Among  the  many  who  called  at  the  milliner's  shop,  came 
Mrs.  Deacon  Ely,  —  not  to  purchase  a  new  bonnet,  or  a  fresh 


40  THE   SHADY   SIDE  J     OR, 

ribbon  for  the  old  one,  —  but  to  administer  a  few  words  of  cau 
tion  to  the  gossiping  Miss  Brooks. 

Mrs.  Ely  was  a  plain,  sensible,  matronly  woman,  open- 
hearted  and  liberal-handed,  a  friend  to  everybody,  and  a  quiet 
yet  fearless  advocate  of  the  truth. 

We  may  not  stop  here  to  inquire  how  much  the  good  deacon 
was  indebted  to  his  help-meet  for  the  fact  that  he  was  —  what 
in  these  days  is  so  rarely  found  —  a  model  in  the  deaconship. 

Mrs,  Ely  talked  like  a  mother  to  Esther  Ann;  told  her  that 
"  such  roundabout  stories  as  she  had  imported  were  sure  to  be 
exaggerated ;  —  perhaps  it  would  turn  out  entirely  false ;  and 
then  how  mortifying  it  would  be  to  her !  But,  even  if  the  main 
fact  should  prove  true,  how  little  judgment  had  she  shown  in 
circulating  reports  about  it  that  had  set  the  whole  parish  in  a 
flurry  !  It  was  not  prudent,  neither  was  it  kind  toward  their 
minister.  We  ought  to  have  more  confidence  in  him,  than  to 
suppose  he  would  marry  '  a  gay,  idle  young  flirt,'  as  some  are 
calling  her. 

"  She  had  really  thought  we  were  wiser  here  than  some  places 
that  make  a  breeze  about  their  minister's  marriage.  She  hoped 
these  reports  would  not  reach  Mr.  Vernon's  ear,  —  his  feelings 
are  so  easily  touched.  It 's  time  he  married ;  and  people  ought 
to  be  pleased  that,  so  particular  as  he  is,  there  is  a  prospect  of 
his  being  suited." 

With  such  and  many  like  words  was  the  weak-minded  girl 
brought  to  feel  her  imprudence ;  and  with  tears  she  promised 
Mrs.  Ely  that  she  would  not  agitate  the  matter  any  more. 

It  was  almost  night,  —  the  night  of  his  return,  —  when  the 
unconscious  subject  of  so  much  busy  speculation  entered  the 
village,  with  the  reins  lying  loose  on  Pompey's  neck,  looking 
here  and  there  for  a  smiling  welcome,  after  a  five  days'  absence. 
He  met  one  and  another,  returning  from  their  day's  work  in  the 
field,  but  their  manner  seemed  to  him  peculiar.  Some  looked 
at  hiiu  suspiciously,  and  others  fixedly ;  and  one  passed  him 
with  averted  eyes.  What  could  it  mean  ? 


LIFE   IN    A   COUNTRY    PAKSONAGB.  41 

At  an  angle  of  the  green  he  met  Esquire  Lewis,  who  seemed 
in  haste,  and  less  boisterous  than  usual  in  his  salutations.  A 
something  unwonted  so  impressed  him,  that  he  called  after  the 
esquire,  with  an  inquiry  after  his  family,  and  the  people  in 
general ;  but  only  received  a  cool  "  All  well,  I  believe." 

He  rode  musingly  across  the  green,  and  overtook  two  young 
girls,  to  whom  he  spake,  as  ever,  with  pleasant  greetings.  One, 
though  cordial  in  her  reply,  colored  deeply ;  the  other  was  Bes 
sie  Crampton,  a  favorite  of  his,  to  whom  he  had  lately  intro 
duced  a  classmate.  Bessie's  face  wore  a  comic  expression,  and 
her  roguish  eyes  flashed  upon  him  such  intelligence  that  ho 
could  not  forbear  an  answering  smile  of  conscious  betrayal,  and 
a  quick,  sympathetic  glance,  which  said  plainly,  "  We  under 
stand  each  other."  He  knew  that  his  secret  was  out. 

He  found  Miss  Leevy  at  Mr.  Cook's  when  he  entered.  She 
received  him  with  a  painfully  embarrassed  air,  and  was  missing 
•when  he  came  from  his  room  to  tea. 

Mrs.  Cook  confirmed  his  conviction  that  tidings  of  his  intended 
marriage  had  reached  Salem,  wisely  suppressing  the  embellish 
ments  that  had  caused  such  a  sensation  among  the  people. 

Mr.  Vernon  was  now  open  to  inquiry  respecting  his  plans; 
and  it  was  soon  generally  known  that  he  had  purchased  a  house, 
and  that  he  was  to  be  married  on  the  thirtieth  instant 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"Echo,  on  1he  zephyrs  gliding, 
Bears  a  voice  that  seems  to  say, 
'  Ears  and  hearts,  come  list  my  tiding, 
This  has  been  a  wedding-day.'  " 

THE  nuptial  day  of  their  minister  passed  not  unnoted  by  the 
people  of   his  charge.     As  that   beautiful   October    morning 
dawned  on  hill-top  and  glebe,  many  a  heart  in  Salem  sent  out 
4* 


42  THE   SHADY   SIDE  J     OR, 

its  fervent  blessing  on  a  union,  in  •which  was  felt  a  near  and 
practical  interest.  Many  a  quick  fancy  traversed  the  thirty 
miles  of  carriage-road  to  Mayfield,  in  season  to  witness  the 
marriage  ceremony ;  and,  though  they  could  see  only  the  figure 
of  the  bride,  he  who  clasped  her  hand  stood  before  their  mind's 
eye  as  distinct  in  form  and  feature  as  when  they  saw  him  in 
the  pulpit  the  last  Sabbath. 

Aunt  Rachel,  Mrs.  Cook's  invalid  boarder,  was  almost  beside 
herself  with  joy.  She  declared  it  was  the  finest  day  o'f  the 
month,  and  that "  heaven  and  earth  were  smiling  on  the  union." 
Having  none  but  distant  kindred,  she  loved  her  young  minister 
next  to  her  God,  —  with  a  love,  too,  that  partook  largely  -of 
reverence  and  worship.  She  had  asked  him  the  exact  hour  of 
the  ceremony;  and  when  eight  o'clock  arrived,  she  was  ner 
vously  fumbling  the  leaves  of  an  old  hymn-book,  and  it  soon 
became  apparent  that  she  was  about  to  honor  the  event  with  a 
song.  True,  she  was  very  deaf,  and  her  voice  was  a  stringless 
instrument ;  but  the  psalm-tunes  she  sang  in  girlhood  were 
fresh  in  her  memory,  and  she  "  made  melody  in  her  heart,"  if 
not  to  the  Lord,  at  least  to  the  under-shepherd,  who  led  her 
into  green  pastures,  beside  the  still  waters  of  salvation. 

As  neighbors  met,  that  day,  the  first  thing  that  followed  their 
salutations  was,  "  I  suppose  our  minister  is  married  this  morn 
ing."  There  were  a  few  who  followed  up  the  theme  by  an 
ominous  shake  of  the  head,  and  auguries  of  evil. 

The  afternoon  of  the  same  day,  —  whether  the  coincidence 
was  designed  does  not  appear,  —  there  was  a  gathering  of  the 
ladies,  a  mile  out  of  the  village,  at  Deacon  Ely's.  Now  that 
the  hurry  of  harvesting  was  over,  Mrs.  Ely  found  a  pause  in 
which  to  quilt  a  comfortable  that  she  had  promised  to  a  wretched 
family  in  the  neighborhood.  She  was  a  woman  who  found  the 
right  time  for  everything.  Hence  there  was  no  confusion  in 
her  house,  and  nothing  planned  was  given  up  for  want  of  abil 
ity  to  accomplish  it.  Four  grown-up  sons,  without  a  sister, 
made  large  demands  upon  her ;  yet  she  always  moved  about 


LIFE   IN    A   COUNTKT    PARSONAGE.  4d 

with  the  same  even,  energetic  step,  and  placid,  motherly  coun 
tenance. 

Two  or  three  days  before  this  gathering,  she  might  have 
been  seen,  after  her  dinner-work  was  done,  stripping  up  the 
skirts  of  old  dresses,  and  putting  them  in  proper  shape  for  a 
bed-covering.  This  done,  a  general  invitation  to  the  quilting 
was  circulated  through  the  district,  and  sent  over  to  the  village. 
As  the  result  of  this,  .some  twenty  married  ladies  and  maidens 
met  in  the  long  dining-room,  at  two  o'clock,  with  nimble  fingers 
and  tongues,  prepared,  as  usual,  to  carry  on  a  double  line  of 
operations. 

After  the  work  was  marked  off,  the  frame  let  down  afc  the 
corners  on  the  old  kitchen  chairs  to  the  proper  level,  and  duly 
tied  with  tow  strings,  —  after  the  ladies,  with  much  jostling 
and  running  under  the  quilt,  were  all  sorted,  the  choice  of 
thread  discussed,  and  the  size  of  needles  compared,  —  the  way 
was  opened  for  conversation  on  any  topic  of  general  interest. 

As  might  have  been  predicted,  there  was  but  one  absorbing 
theme;  and  that,  introduced  in  a  whisper,  soon  went  round 
the  circle,  till  the  loud  hum  of  voices,  and  the  warm  expression 
of  various  opinions,  might  have  jarred  on  the  ear  of  a  disinter 
ested  spectator. 

First,  were  collated  all  the  historic  items  that  had  received 
publicity  through  Esther  Ann  Brooks,  and  through  the  replies 
of  Mr.  Vernon  himself  to  those  who  had  the  assurance  to  ques 
tion  him.  These,  interspersed  with  various  comments,  occu 
pied  no  little  time  ;  so  that  the  quilt  was  rolled  twice  on  both 
sides  before  the  party  reached  the  next  broad  field  of  remark 
—  conjecture.  At  one  right  angle  of  the  quilt  several  young 
ladies  discussed  the  wedding  habiliments  and  arrangements  ;  — 
whether  the  bride  would  be  attired  in  white,  or  in  a  travelling 
dress,  —  whether  there  would  be  a  large  or  a  small  party,  — 
would  they  have  music  at  a  morning  wedding,  —  in  honor  to 
the  new  temperance  movement,  would  they  dispense  with  wine ; 


44  THE   SHADY   SIDE;     Ott, 

and  would  the  wedding-cake  be  —  any  of  it  —  brought  to  Sa 
lem  for  distribution. 

There,  a  more  elderly  group  were  chatting  about  the  houso 
lately  purchased,  —  what  repairs  were  needed  and  going  for 
ward,  —  which  rooms  would  be  re-papered,  and  what  would  be 
the  quality  of  the  furniture,  and  the  style  of  living.  Some 
body  wondered  if  Mrs.  Vernon  would  bring  her  piano  with 
her.  Carrie  Wood,  the  youngest  of  the  party,  clapped  her 
hands  at  this  suggestion,  and  "  hoped  so ;  she  should  dearly 
love  to  hear  her  play,  as  she  had  not  yet  seen  a  piano."  The 
city  girl,  who  had  come  with  her  Aunt  Hoadley  to  this  novel 
"  sociable,"  put  up  her  lip  in  a  contemptuous  curl,  and  looked 
compassionately  on  the  unsophisticated  girl  of  fifteen,  who  had 
never  seen  a  piano. 

Meanwhile,  good  Mrs.  Ely  had  succeeded  in  enlisting  half  a 
dozen  ladies,  among  whom  was  Bessie  Crampton,  in  her  pro 
posal  to  make  up  a  little  wardrobe  for  the  coming  necdUf  the 
destitute  woman  for  whose  benefit  they  were  quilting. 

The  next  turn  the  conversation  took  was  upon  the  bearing? 
of  this  new  connection  on  the  welfare  of  the  parish. 

One  lady  thought  "  it  would  have  been  a  disastrous  thing,  had 
it  occurred  last  winter,  in  the  height  of  the  revival,  —  it  makes 
so  much  talk! "  Another  said,  "  We  could  not  expect  the  min 
ister  to  visit  as  much  as  he  had  done  among  the  people ;  she 
guessed  some  would  miss  him."  A  third,  "  thought  it  doubt 
ful  whether  he  would  find  as  much  time  to  study  his  sermons." 

The  good-natured  Mrs.  Cook  said,  "  It  would  be  a  happy 
thing  for  him,  if  it  only  kept  off  that  melancholy  look  he  had 
nearly  all  last  spring,  when  she  used  to  ask  him  what  was  the 
matter,  and  he  told  her,  '  the  blues.'  " 

The  withered,  sallow-looking  Mrs.  Buel  thought  "  he  ought 
to  consider  what  was  for  the  good  of  the  people." 

Mrs.  Ely  came  to  the  rescue,  and  asked  "  how  it  appeared 
that  he  was  not  mindful  of  the  interests  of  the  people.  A  good 
minister's  wife  was  certainly  an  acquisition  to  any  community 


LIFE    IN   A    COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  45 

She  helps  the  pastor,  makes  for  him  a  pleasant  home,  increases 
the  social  feeling  between  him  and  his  people,  and  is  a  blessing 
to  them  in  many  ways.  There  is  no  need  of  so  much  excite 
ment.  We  should  not  be  prejudiced  so  easily  against  one  we 
have  never  seen." 

"  Well,"  said  the  little,  bustling  Mrs.  Colcman,  "  when  she 
comes,  I  hope  she  will  get  up  some  parties,  or  sewing-circles,  or 
something  else ;  it 's  so  horribly  dull  here.  We  only  want  a 
person  to  take  the  lead,  to  have  something  going  on  here  as  well 
as  in  other  places." 

"  Take  the  lead  !  "  said  Miss  Leevy ;  "  who  do  you  think  will 
look  up  to  a  young  girl  of  eighteen  ?  "  There  was  a  significant 
laugh  around  the  circle.  She  felt  a  hand  on  the  back  of  her 
chair,  and,  looking  round,  saw  Dr.  Alden  standing  behind  her. 

He  had  come  over  to  superintend  the  moving  of  some  hay, 
bought  of  Deacon  Ely ;  and,  while  th,e  men  were  busy  at  the 
barn,  he  took  the  liberty  to  look  in  upon  the  quilting  party. 

"  What 's  all  this  about  ?  "  said  the  good  doctor. 

"  0,"  said  one  of  the  girls,  "  just  as  if  you  don't  know,  Dr. 
Alden ;  you  have  been  in  the  door  these  ten  minutes." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  he  ;  "  be  a  little  reasonable  now,  ladies. 
This  talk  about  youth  and  inexperience  is  all  moonshine.  Ono 
would  suppose  you  expected  a  good  minister's  wife  to  be  found, 
like  some  garments,  ready  cut  and  made,  —  a  complete  fit.  It 's 
no  such  thing ;  it 's  the  training  in  the  sphere,  that  qualifies 
them  for  it,  though  some  have  more  native  congeniality  to  the 
station  than  others.  I  don't  like  this  ado  at  prescribing  what 
sort  of  a  woman  a  minister  shall  marry.  For  my  part,  I 
would  not  have  them  all  '  as  like  as  two  peas.'  There  are  cer 
tain  fundamental  things  which  every  wise  man  —  and,  of  course, 
every  minister  —  should  look  well  to,  at  the  beginning,  —  good, 
common  sense,  sincere  piety,  and  mental  culture,  —  thoe  lio 
at  the  foundation. 

"  Take  any  young  wcman  with  these  essentials,  and  unite 
her  with  one  whom  she  loves  with  unselfish  devotion ;  let  hia 


46  THE   SHADY    SIDE  J     OR., 

profession  be  the  ministry,  and  she  will  shape  her  course  as 
may  best  subserve  his  sphere  in  life.  She  may  make  some  mis 
takes  for  a  while;  but  let  her  conscientiously  discharge  duties  as 
they  rise,  and  it  will  not  be  long  before  she  will  settle  down  into 
an  exemplary  minister's  wife." 

"  But,"  said  Mrs.  Pritchard,  appealingly,  "  don't  you  think. 
Dr.  Alden,  that,  in  such  an  important  matter,  a  minister  should 
take  advice,  and  be  guided  by  the  judgment  of  others  ?" 

"  Undoubtedly,  ma'am,"  said  the  doctor,  with  assumed  grav 
ity ;  "  since  she  is  to  be  the  wife  of  the  parish,  hp  should  select 
a  committee  of  some  half-dozen  of  his  most  experienced  ladies, 
and  wed  by  proxy ;  only  he  might  be  a  little  past  his  prime, 
before  they  would  agree  in  their  choice." 

"  0,  doctor!"  said  Mrs.  Coleman;  "  you  are  always  so  queer. 
I  shall  make  you  own,  now,  that  you  think  Mr.  Vernon  is  tak 
ing  too  young  a  bride."  • 

"A  little  doubtful,  Mrs.  Coleman.  If  she  is  young,  she  will 
have  less  to  unlearn,  and  will  be  moulded  the  more  easily,  and 
adapt  herself  with  less  difficulty  to  what  is  peculiar  to  the  pro 
fession.  But,  then,"  —  he  added  thoughtfully,  —  "  she  may  be 
more  susceptible  to  untoward  influences  from  the  people ;  we 
can  do  much,  doubtless,  to  make  her  young  life  happy,  or 
uncomfortable." 

"  You  are  getting  quite  serious,  doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Hoadley. 
"  I  am  sure,  nobody  wishes  her  any  harm ;  but  who  would 
have  thought  Mr.  Vernon  would  be  the  man  to  be  attracted  by 
a  pretty  face  ?  " 

"  You  have  seen  her,  then,"  said  he  ;  "  you  have  the  advan 
tage  of  us." 

"  Now,  doctor,  you  know  better,"  replied  the  lady,  with  some 
confusion. 

"  0,  your  niece  here,  may  have  met  her." 

"  No,  no ;  but  we  have  all  heard  about  her,  from  those  who 
have  seen  her." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  su'.J  the  doctor,  rising  •  "  to  be  young 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY   PAK30NAUK.  47 

and  pretty,  one  would  think  a  crime."  Several  pairs  of  bright 
eyes  were  suddenly  raised  from  their  work.  "  Well,  well," 
added  he,  "  if  it  is,  I  know  of  some  others  in  the  same  con 
demnation  ;"  and,  squinting  slyly  with  his  gray  eyes  toward 
the  corner  of  the  quilt  where  sat  Bessie  and  Carrie,  he  nodded 
a  "  good  day,  ladies,"  and  departed. 

The  needles  were  now  plied  with  renewed  diligence,  as  Mrs 
Cook  remarked  that  this  room  would  be  wanted  to  set  the  table 
in,  and  the  quilt  must  come  off  before  tea. 

Mrs.  Ely  called  Leevy  out  to  help  her  get  tea ;  and,  when 
they  reached  the  pantry,  she  softly  shut  the  door,  and  asked  her 
niece  "  what  she  meant  by  making  such  an  imprudent  remark 
and  begged  her,  for  her  own  sake,  to  keep  still ;  people  would 
be  drawing  inferences  from  her  appearance,  and  she  ought  to 
be  more  careful ;"  with  many  like  words  of  caution. 

To  her  surprise,  Lcevy  let  fall  two  or  three  large  tears,  and 
replied,  "  she  was  not  aware  she  spoke  so  warmly  till  the  words 
were  out  of  her  lips;  she  was  sorry,  and  would  try  to  da 
better." 

"Yes,"  said  her  aunt;  "and,  when  Mr.  Vernon  returns  with 
his  wife,  I  hope  you  will  not  be  backward,  Leevy,  in  calling  on 
ner.  You  know,  as  well  as  I,  how  much  has  been  said  about 
your  visiting  him  ;  now  is  your  time  to  show  people  that  they 
have  had  no  reason  for  talking  as  they  have  done." 

To  this  Leevy  madt)  no  reply,  and  her  aunt,  for  once,  was 
puzzled  what  to  think  of  her. 

We  will  stay  no  longer  at  the  quilting-party,  for  this  is  a 
wedding-day,  and  it  should  bring  us  into  a  more  genial  atmos 
phere. 

In  a  capacious  parlor  in  Mayfield,  'mid  the  perfume  of  fading 
flowers,  there  linger  yet  the  breath  of  warm  hearts,  and  the 
fragrance  of  honeyed  lips,  and  the  dew  of  gentle  tears,  and  the 
soft,  faint  echoes  of  the  nuptial  song,  and  the  sweeter  melody 
Df  farewell  voices,  and  the  lar-oft'  solemn  rustling  of  angd 


48  THK   SHADY    SI^E  \     OK, 

wings.  Yet,  to  a  casual  observer,  the  place  wears  the  stillness 
of  a  deserted  house. 

The  owner  of  the  mansion,  with  feelings  that  make  leisure 
dreaded,  has  gone  to  visit  a  distant  invalid. 

Two  or  three  young  theologues  are  retracing  their  steps  to 
the  seminary ;  while  twice  that  number  of  blooming  girls  are 
wondering  if  they  will  ever  find  their  way  again  to  Mayfield. 

The  young  missionary-elect  is,  by  this  time,  seated  in  a  train 
of  cars  for  "  down-east,"  with  a  dark-eyed,  thoughtful  girl  by 
his  side. 

The  New  York  brother  and  his  gay  wife  are  on  the  Sound. 
The  maiden  mistress  of  the  establishment,  whose  head,  and 
heart,  and  hands,  have  been  so  heavily  taxed  these  many  days, 
has  found  her  first  leisure  moment  for  a  crying-spell ;  and  is 
now  alone  in  her  chamber,  actually  indulging  the  unwonted 
luxury  of  tears. 

As  for  the  newly-married  pair,  they  have,  since  nine  o'clock, 
journeyed  many  a  mile  of  carriage-road,  over  hill  and  dale,  un 
wearied  by  the  long,  rough  way,  —  with  a  joy  in  their  hearts 
too  deep  for  a  constant  flow  of  words,  and  a  sympathy  so  per 
fect  as  to  make  a  medium  even  of  silence. 

Already  has  Edward  pointed  out  the  spires  of  his  native 
town ;  and  now  they  leave  the  dusty  thoroughfare,  for  the  nar 
row  road,  with  its  midway  strip  of  green,  that  leads  up  to  the 
farm-house. 

Nor  is  their  visit  unexpected,  as  the  air  of  readiness,  and 
the  many  eager  faces  in  waiting,  amply  testify. 

Ere  the  carriage  reaches  the  place,  the  new  husband  turns  to 
look  at  his  bride  ;  he  notices  a  sudden  accession  of  color  to  her 
cheek  and  a  fluttering  of  the  heart,  —  as  what  bride  does  not 
remember,  who  was  presented  a  stranger  to  her  husband's  rela 
tives?  He  tries  to  scan  her  with  other  eyes  than  his  own,  and 
the  result  seems  quite  satisfactory ;  for  he  whispers,  "  I  know 
they  will  love  you,  Mary." 

Brother  James  is   the   first  at  the   carriage-side,  and  has 


LIFE   IN    A    COUMKY    PARSONAGE.  49 

looked  iuto  his  new  sister's  face,  and  smiled,  and  oowed,  ere 
there  is  time  for  the  formal  words  of  presentation.  She  is 
quite  at  her  ease,»as  she  feels  the  warm,  brotherly  grasp  of  his 
strong  hand,  and  responds  to  his  cordial  welcome  with  a  kiss. 
The  four  boys  are  straggling  down  the  path  from  the  door  to  the 
gate,  —  all,  but  one,  awkward  and  confused,  in  the  vain  attempt 
to  recall  what  they  were  to  say  and  do  on  this  important  occa 
sion.  Master  Eddie  alone  is  self-possessed  ;  and,  disappointed 
at  seeing  a  large  white  horse  before  the  carriage,  he  disregards 
all  ceremony,  and  vociferates,  "  Uncle  Ned,  why  didn't  you 
come  with  black  Pompey  ?  —  I  say  it's  too  bad."  The  aged 
father  is  on  the  step,  and  sister  Laura  in  the  door-way  with  the 
baby.  But  Edward  makes  his  salutations  brief  till  he  gains 
the  hall,  and  clasps  his  mother  in  his  arms.  Nor  does  he  pro 
long  his  embrace,  eager  to  consummate  the  meeting  of  the  two 
beings  whom  he  loves  best  on  earth.  And  how  does  his  own 
eye  moisten  as  he  sees  the  tears  involuntary,  start  on  either 
side,  —  the  warm  gush  from  the  full  cistern,  the  single  bright 
drop  from  the  fountain  nearly  spent ! 

To  the  aged  matron,  the  scene  recalled  her  buried  daughter ; 
and,  by  a  similar  force  of  association,  Mary's  lips  no  sooner 
vibrated  with  the  word  "  mother,"  than  it  awoke  in  her  heart 
the  old  memories  of  childhood  and  of  her  one  great  sorrow. 

After  a  generous  supper,  which  was  waiting  the  arrival  of 
the  youthful  pair,  they  spent  a  pleasant  hour  in  the  "  old  north 
room;"  one  on  either  side  of  mother's  chair,  alone  with  her. 
Mary  had  never  seen  Edward  look  so  happy  or  so  lovable  as 
now,  in  the  home  of  his  childhood,  by  his  mother's  knee. 
Blessed  place !  where  the  man  shakes  off  the  dust  and  cares  of 
life,  and  becomes  a  child  again. 

An  evening  stroll  in  the  glorious  moonlight !  —  through  the 
orchard,  beneath  the  large  old  apple-trees  7  down  the  smooth 
green  hill-side ;  under  the  willows  by  the  river  bank,  where 
the  boy  angled  for  perch ;  to  the  moss-covered  rock,  in  whose 
shaded  niche  the  student  was  wont  to  con  his  book  ;  back  to 
fi 


50  THE   SHADY    SIDE;     OR, 

the  rustic  perch,  where  the  fragrant  honey-suckle,  so  often 
trained  by  hands  that  will  never  train  it  more,  is  yet  studded 
with  blossoms;  and  the  moon,  looking  thrcmgh  the  lattice, 
makes  mosaic  of  the  sanded  step. 

That  same  moon,  on  the  eve  of  this  wedding-day,  far  to  the 
east,  looks  in  through  a  muslin  curtain  to  a  homely,  yet  neat 
and  comfortable  chamber,  where,  kneeling  beside  her  bed,  a 
lowly  maiden,  alone  with  her  Bible  and  her  God,  is  striving  to 
calm  a  fevered  spirit,  and  struggling  for  victory  over  self  in  its 
most  subtle  guise.  Poor  Leevy !  — 

"  0,  happiness  !  0,  unrest ! " 


CHAPTER  VII. 

**  She 's  a  woman  —  one  in  whom 

The  spring-time  of  her  childish  years 
Shall  never  lose  its  fresh  perfume, 
Though  knowing  well  that  life  hath  room 
For  many  blights  and  tears." 


"  A  thousand  thoughts  of  all  things  dear, 

Like  shadows  o'er  me  sweep  ; 

I  leave  my  sunny  childhood  here, 

0,  therefore,  let  me  weep  !  " 

THE  people  at  the  homestead  could  not  fail  to  admire  and 
love  Edward's  young  wife ;  yet,  in  the  brief  acquaintance  of  a 
few  days,  they  did  not  come  to  appreciate  her  maturity  and 
strength  of  character.  Occasionally  they  betrayed  to  Edward 
that  they  regarded  her  rather  as  his  pet  than  companion.  The 
old  gentleman  caressed  her,  and  called  her  his  "  little  girl." 
Brother  James  would  sometimes  say,  laughingly,  "  he  should 
like  to  see  her  taking  care  of  a  house."  Sister  Laura  ventured 
to  ask  her  "  what  Salem  people  would  say  to  a  married  lady, 
—  and  their  minister's  wife,  too,  —  with  her  neck  full  of  curls  ? " 
Mary  quietly  replied,  "  that  she  had  worn  her  hair  in  this  way 


IN   A  COUNTEY    PARSONAGE.  51 

ever  since  she  could  remember ;  and,  of  course,  to  her  friends  it 
looked  most  natural  and  becoming ;  but  it  was  not  stereotyped 
thus,  and  she  could  put  up  the  curls  any  time.  Indeed,  she 
had  tried  it  once,  but "  — 

"  Edward  objected,  I  venture,"  interposed  sister  Laura 
She  looked  over  her  shoulder.  He  was  there  to  speak  for  him 
self. 

"  0  !  "  said  he,  "  it  was  the  morning  of  our  marriage.  The 
carriage  was  waiting.  Mary  carne  from  the  library,  whither 
she^had  gone  to  put  on  her  bonnet.  I  saw  the  change,  at  a 
glance,  and  whispered,  '  What  is  this  ?  '  She  answered,  '  My 
second  concession  to  the  good  of  the  parish.'  I  told  her  we 
were  not  going  to  Salem  yet,  but  to  my  birth-place ;  and  1 
must  take  her  there  just  as  I  had  found  her.  So  we  were 
delayed  a  half-hour,  to  rectify  the  mistake." 

This  incident  led  to  a  discussion  as  to  how  far  a  minister's 
family  should  conform  to  the  notions  of  their  parishioners,  in 
regard  to  dress  and  style  of  living.  Mary  expressed  her  views 
with  sufficient  modesty,  yet  with  so  much  firmness  that  sister 
Laura,  in  rehearsing  the  matter  to  her  husband,  declared  her 
surprise  that  "  the  girl  was  so  spirited  and  independent." 

The  last  afternoon  of  the  visit,  Master  Eddie  came  home 
from  school,  with  loud  complaints  that  his  brothers  had  gone 
off,  and  left  him  to  play  alone.  His  new  aunt  had  taken  quite 
a  fancy  to  the  child.  She  told  him  she  would  play  with  him, 
if  that  would  do. 

"  0  !  but,  auntie,"  said  he,  "  you  will  not  run  with  me  in 
the  yard,  and  play  catch." 

"  Certainly  I  will,"  she  replied;  and  the  romp  began. 

James  and  EJward  stood  in  the  porch,  and  watched  them ; 
both  with  pleasure,  —  one  with  evident  pride  and  satisfaction, 
as  the  young  bride's  silvery  laugh  rung  out,  and  the  glow  height 
ened  on  her  cheek,  and  the  glossy  curls  were  tossed  to  and  fro 
on  her  bare  neck. 


52  THE  SHADY  SIDE;  OR, 

"  They  are  about  the  same  age,"  said  James.  "  It 's  a  pretty 
picture,  Ned ;  but  I  fear  she  is  too  much  of  a  child  for  you." 

Edward's  eyes  were  already  moist  with  silent  thanksgivings 
that  so  bright  and  joyous  a  gift  had  been  vouchsafed  him. 
When  he  spoke,  it  was  with  a  feeling  and  emphasis  that  startled 
his  brother. 

"It  was  this  very  thing,  James,  —  what  you  call  childish 
gayety ;  this  buoyancy  and  freshness  of  feeling,  —  that  won  mo 
at  the  first.  I  had  grown  old  in  spirit ;  fevered  with  the  heat 
and  burden  of  my  professional  cares,  I  was  faint  and  worn 
when  I  first  met  her ;  and  I  welcomed  her  converse  as  you  do 
the  cooling  shade  at  noon,  in  your  sun-burnt  fields.  It  was 
like  the  green  grove  and  bubbling  fountain  to  the  heated  travel 
ler  at  mid-day.  It  seemed  to  take  me  back  ten  years,  and 
to  renew  my  early  youth.  True,  there  were  other  qualities 
which  found  a  deeper  place  in  my  heart ;  but  it  was  this  which 
first  attracted  and  charmed  me." 

"  But,"  said  James,  "  this  '  freshness,'  as  you  call  it,  cannot 
last.  The  season  of  girlhood  will  soon  be  passed." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  the  other,  quickly.  "  If  it 
were  the  mere  effervescence  of  animal  spirits,  time  might  exhaust 
the  fountain ;  but  it  is,  with  Mary,  something  more  than  that ; 
—  it  is  part  of  her  temperament;  an  element,  too,  that  has 
great  tenacity  of  life.  I  believe  it  possible  to  retain  it  even  till 
old  age ;  and  how  delightful  to  be  always  young,  —  always 
fresh  in  feeling !  There  may  be  much  to  try  it,  much  to 
quench  it ;  but,  even  to  the  last,  traces  of  the  old  playfulness 
will  remain;  like  the  effervescing  draught,  it  will  sparkle  at 
the  bottom  of  the  glass." 

"  You  are  quite  eloquent,  Edward ;  and  tears  in  your  eyes, 
too !  Well,  I  hope  you  will  realize  all  you  anticipate ;  but 
why  look  so  grave  ?  I  have  not  displeased  you  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Edward ;  "  1  was  straining  my  eyes  to  look  into 
the  distant  future ;  and  a  prophetic  mood  was  fast  coming  ovei 
me.  You  think  I  love  too  well,  James." 


LIFE  IN  A   COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  53 

"  I  have  not  said  that,  brother.  I  don't  know  as  I  think  it. 
She  loves  you  tenderly,  I  can  see,  notwithstanding  she  is  some 
what  shy  of  caresses ;  and  you  ought  to  give  her  all  your  heart, 
—  that  is,  as  much  of  it  as  you  may  lawfully  give  to  any 
earthly  object.  But  do  not  make  an  idol  of  her,  brother.  Are 
you  not  in  some  danger  of  this  ? " 

Edward's  thoughts,  just  then,  took  a  sudden  impetus,  as 
Mary  came  tripping  round  the  corner,  with  Eddie  in  full  chase ; 
and,  bounding  from  the  porch,  he  caught  them  both  at  once,  and 
put  an  end  to  the  race. 

It  was  the  middle  of  November  when  Edward  and  Mary 
returned  from  their  wedding  tour,  and  found  the  dear  home  in 
Mayfield  (never  had  it  seemed  dearer)  alive  with  the  bustle  of 
preparation  for  their  house-keeping.  The  carpets  had  been 
selected  previously  to  the  marriage,  the  floors  they  were  to 
cover  measured,  and  they  were  now  ready  to  be  laid  as  soon  as 
wanted.  The  cabinet  furniture,  too,  was  purchased  at  the  same 
time,  and  stood  boxed  in  the  distant  city,  ready  to  be  forwarded 
per  order.  Three  seamstresses,  with  busy  needles,  under  Miss 
Allison's  supervision,  had  now  nearly  completed  their  task ;  and, 
in  the  expressive  words  of  Ann,  the  domestic,  there  had  been 
"  lots  o'  sewing  done  in  this  house  since  the  wedding." 

The  eighteenth  was  a  clear,  frosty  morning.  The  house  was 
a-stir  before  day-dawn.  Mary  woke  with  the  first  sound ;  for 
^even  in  sleep  she  had  not  lost  the  consciousness  that  she  was  to 
set  forth  to-day  for  a  new  home.  Presently  a  light  was 
brought  to  her  door,  and  she  dressed  as  hastily  as  possible,  that 
she  might  have  a  little  time  to  herself  before  breakfast. 

Lighting  her  own  lamp,  she  placed  it  on  the  shelf  for 
Edward,  and,  taking  the  other,  slipped  out,  and  round  to  her 
own  li;tle  chamber,  which  had  been  her  resting-place  and  sanc 
tuary  ever  since  her  childhood. 

Her  heart  was  very,  very  full ;  and  the  emotions,  how  min 
gled,  how  tender,  how  strong!  She  sought  her  accustoired 
place  of  prayer,  and  bowed  her  head ;  but  it  was  many  minutes 
5* 


54  THE   SHADY    SIDE  J    OR, 

ere  she  could  command  her  voice.  Then,  when  utterance  came, 
how  earnest  were  the  pleadings,  and  how  often  interrupted,  — 
now  for  a  gush  of  tears,  and  now  for  recollections  which  fur 
nished  new  materials  for  supplication,  or  fresh  matter  for  giving 
of  thanks ! 

0,  what  a  relief  is  prayer  to  the  burdened  Christian  !  What 
like  this  can  still  the  convulsive  heart-throbbings,  or  give  com 
posure  and  strength  to  the  soul  ? 

Every  believer  has  his  signal  visits  to  the  mercy-seat;  —  places 
where,  like  Jacob,  he  sets  up  a  memorial,  to  look  back  upon 
through  all  his  after  pilgrimage ;  —  times  when,  as  a  prince,  he 
had  power  with  God,  and  prevailed. 

Such  was  this  early-morning  interview  to  Mary.  Tranquil 
lized  and  refreshed,  she  rose,  and  drew  the  curtain  toward  the 
rising  day.  A  few  stars  were  'yet  in  the  sky,  and  the  faint 
streaks  of  daylight  rapidly  brightened,  till  every  feature  of  the 
familiar  landscape  stood  revealed.  Distant,  in  the  dusky  twi 
light,  she  could  trace  the  white  enclosure  of  the  quiet  church 
yard  ;  and  she  gazed  till  the  increasing  dawn  showed  her  the 
weeping-willow  by  her  sainted  mother's  grave. 

But  neither  the  sight  of  that  consecrated  spot,  nor  the  thought 
of  what  a  home  she  was  leaving,  nor  the  image  of  her  father, 
Borrowing,  as  he  should  miss  her,  from  day  to  day,  nor  the  pres 
sure  of  untried  and  weighty  responsibilities,  nor  the  lively  sense 
of  her  own  weakness  and  deficiency,  had  power  to  disturb  her 
now.  A  holy  peace  was  in  her  heart.  That  heart  was  stayed 
on  God,  and  its  one  deep  aspiration  was  to  honor  Christ  by  a 
life  spent  in  doing  good. 

One  hurried  look  around  the  chamber,  and  she  went  down  to 
the  breakfast  table,  with  traces  of  tears  on  her  cheek,  but  with 
a  halo  round  her  that  told  of  sunlight  in  her  heart. 

Edward  led  the  family  worship.  His  prayer  was  brief  and 
tender.  Mary  felt  that  he  must  know  something  of  what  had 
been  passing  in  her  own  thoughts.  He  doubtless  had  some 
appreciation  of  the  circumstances,  as  they  would  naturally  affect 


UFE   IN   A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  55 

one  of  her  ardent  susceptibilities.  Beyond  this,  had  he  any 
idea  of  the  scope  and  depth  of  her  emotions,  at  this  great  orisia 
in  hot  history  ?  We  trow  not.  Just  now,  and  on  this  point, 
Mary's  father  had  for  her  a  more  perfect  sympathy  than  her 
husband.  He  could  not  trust  himself  to  part  with  her  here ; 
BO  he  resolved  to  slip  away  from  his  business,  for  a  single  night, 
and  see  her  to  house-keeping. 

The  cavalcade  was  soon  under  way.  Dick  was  first  sent  off, 
with  the  loaded  team  ;  then  the  married  pair  were  helped  away ; 
and,  lastly,  the  doctor  fairly  started,  with  his  elder  daughter, 
after  sundry  delays,  caused  by  her  "  more  last  words  "  to  Ann, 
about  the  care  of  things  during  her  absence.  Every  vehicle 
was  laden  to  its  utmost  capacity.  The  last  article,  which  was 
to  go  "  this  side  up,  with  care,"  was  a  basket  of  provisions,  pre 
pared  by  the  hands  of  the  skilful  housewife,  which  Edward 
insisted  might  be  dispensed  with,  as  the  generosity  of  his  peo 
ple  would  doubtless  make  it  a  work  of  supererogation ;  to  which 
Miss  Harriet,  as  she  carefully  deposited  it  at  her  feet,  replied, 
with  a  knowing  look,  "  We  shall  see." 

- 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  Young  wife,  be  not  as  a  timid  girl  ;  there  is  honor  due  to  thino  estate." 
"  It  snowed  within  hi»  house,  of  meat  and  drink." 

"  0  happy  lot,  and  hallowed,  even  as  the  joy  of  angels, 
Where  the  golden  chain  of  godliness  is  entwined  with  the  roses  of  love  f " 

IT  was  at  a  late  dinner-hour  that  our  travellers  entered  the 
village  of  Salem,  and,  passing  through  it,  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
beyond  the  church,  stopped  at  the  low,  red  house  which  hud 
long  been  the  minister's  boarding  place. 

Sister  Harriet,  with  her  usual  independence,  rebelled  some 
what  at  this  arrangement.  "  We  had  better  go  at  once  .0  the 


56  THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OR, 

new  house.  We  have  enough  to  eat,  and  can  make  ourselves 
quite  comfortable."  But  Mr.  Vernon  had  yielded  a  promise 
to  Mrs.  Cook's  earnest  solicitation  that  he  would  bring  the 
bride  to  dine  with  her.  So  he  just  reminded  their  sister  that 
it  was  one  thing  to  be  mistress  of  ceremonies  at  Mayfield,  and 
quite  another  to  be  his  guest  in  Salem.  She  must  hold  herself 
at  his  disposal. 

Aunt  Rachel  was  in  her  element,  and  knew  not  which  most 
to  admire,  —  the  gentle,  blooming  girl,  or  the  kind,  sensible,  gen 
tlemanly  doctor,  who  patiently  heard  the  story  of  her  ailments, 
and  recommended  several  remedies  which  she  had  never  tried. 

After  dinner,  Mary  asked  Edward  to  let  her  take  a  peep  at 
his  room,  —  his  "  bachelor  sanctum  ;"  but  his  landlady  over 
heard,  and  begged  he  would  not  go  up  stairs,  as  the  chambers 
•were  not  in  order  to-day.  Miss  Allison,  too,  interposed,  say 
ing  it  would  be  needful  to  go  to  work  at  once,  if  they  accom 
plished  anything  toward  furnishing  the  house  before  night. 
Mrs.  Cook  informed  them  that  she  had  seen  to  the  cleaning, 
and  that  the  rooms  were  all  dry  and  aired,  ready  to  begin,  and 
she  would  go  over  with  them. 

The  whole  village  was  by  this  time  aware  of  the  arrival. 
Many  a  stealthy  glance  was  taken  behind  half-closed  shutters, 
or  slightly  drawn  curtains,  beside  the  open  gaze  from  shop-doors 
and  wayside.  Mary  felt  that  many  curious  eyes  were  scanning 
her,  and  she  was  glad  to  be  fairly  within  the  protecting  walls 
of  her  own  dwelling. 

Presently  a  group  of  ladies  gathered,  proffering  their  assist 
ance,  to  whom  the  young  pastor,  as  fast  as  they  arrived,  pre 
sented  his  bride.  A  company  of  men  were  round  the  door, 
helping  the  doctor  and  Dick  take  off  the  load ;  and  many  a 
pair  of  eyes  from  without  peered  curiously  in,  at  every  entrance^ 
to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  minister's  wife. 

Mr.  Vernon  now  told  Mrs.  Cook,  if  other  ladies  came  she 
must  attend  to  them  while  he  was  gone  to  change  his  attire, 
which  he  must  do  before  he  could  go  to  work  in  earnest.  She 


LltS   IN    A   COUNTRY    PAKSONAGE.  57 

put  her  hand  on  his  arm,  as  he  was  passing  out,  and  said,  "  I 
don't  know  as  you  will  like  it,  sir,  the  liberty  we  've  taken ; 
but  I  thought  't  would  help  a  good  deal,  it 's  so  near  the  last 
of  the  week,  if  your  s^Hy  was  moved  over  before  you  came ;  — 
so  we  did  it  yesterday." 

A  troubled  expression  crossed  his  face,  as  he  thought  of  books 
and  papers  passing  through  hands  unused  to  such  freight ;  but 
his  next  thought  was  a  grateful  one,  and  a  smile  and  word  of 
thanks  were  on  his  lips  as  the  good  woman  added,  "  We  were 
very  careful,  sir,  of  everything.  There  were  men  enough  to 
lift,  and  so  we  took  nothing  out  of  the  drawers,  either  in  tho 
library  or  secretary.  Just  run  up,  and  see  how  you  like  it." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  she,  as  they  reached  the  door,  "  you  will  not 
need  to  stoop  here;  ifc's  higher  between  joints  than  our  old 
place." 

"  So,  here  we  are,  sure  enough  !  "  said  the  minister,  with  a 
delight  which  Mrs.  Cook  intensely  shared.  "  Here  's  my  car 
pet  ;  there,  my  lounge  ;  the  library,  secretary,  old  arm-chair, 
—  everything  but  the  bed,  and  I  am  not  sorry  to  miss  that. 
My  wardrobe,  too,  in  the  closet !  But  how  did  you  happen  to 
hit  my  fancy  in  the  arrangement  ?  " 

"  0,"  said  his  honest  friend,  "  Aunt  Rachel  said  that  would 
be  the  trouble,  —  we  should  put  nothing  where  you  would  want 
it ;  but  Miss  Crampton  saw  us,  and  she  ran  over,  and  said  she 
had  been  in  here  while  the  room  was  being  papered,  and  heard 
you  speak  about  it.  So  she  told  us  where  things  were  to 
stand." 

"  And  she  arranged  the  books,  did  she  not  ?  I  should  not 
know  they  had  been  touched." 

"  No ;  she  offered  to  help,  but  cousin  Lcevy  took  them  down, 
ami  she  said  she  would  put  them  up  again  herself,  as  she  knew 
just  how  they  went." 

"  0,  ho  !  't  was  fhe,  was  it  ?  Well,  Miss  Olivia  has  a  bump 
of  order.  By  the  way,  is  she  here  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  she  hi-lpcd  me  a!>out  the  dinner  to-day,  and  then 


58  THE  SHADY  SIDE;   OB, 

went  over  to  Deacon  Ely's.  She  said  her  aunt  would  want  to 
come  this  afternoon,  and  she  would  stay  and  attend  to  the  milk- 
ing." 

Mr.  Vernon  now  recollected  that  hWiad  left  his  wife  alone 
among  strangers.  He  was  hastening  to  go  down,  when  sister 
Harriet  met  him  ;  and,  putting  a  carpet  hammer  and  tacks  in 
his  hand,  bade  him  go  to  work  in  an  adjoining  chamber. 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  don't  be  so  authoritative.  I  must  go  and 
find  Mary  first." 

"  There  is  no  need  of  that  trouble.  The  child  can  take  care 
of  herself.  She  is  as  busy  a*?  a  bee,  and  has  set  all  those  ladies 
at  work,  too;"  —  she  did  not  add,  as  she  might,  "  much  against 
my  will." 

The  fact  was,  this  peculiar  and  energetic  personage  would 
have  preferred  to  make  no  acquaintances  in  Salem  till  the  house 
was  furnished  and  ready  to  receive  company.  Then,  she  had 
no  great  estimate  of  the  value  of  such  kind  of  assistance.  It 
sadly  conflicted  with  the  systematic  order  of  proceedings  ar 
ranged  in  her  own  brain.  So,  when  Mary  came  to  her,  as  she 
was  unpacking  beds  and  linen,  and  asked  her  to  step  out  and  be 
introduced  to  the  company,  and  accept  their  offers  of  help,  she 
replied  in  a  whisper,  that  "  this  was  no  time  for  compliments  ; 
better  tell  the  ladies  there  was  nothing  they  could  do  :  't  would 
hinder  more  than  help  !  " 

But  Mary  suggested  that  they  would  be  better  pleased  to  be 
allowed  to  do  something,  and  she  at  length  consented  to  go  out 
and  see  them. 

One  woman  remarked,  "  We  are  ready  to  help,  if  you  will  only 
Bet  us  to  work."  Miss  Allison  stood  uneasily,  and  was  silent. 
Another  proposed,  as  there  was  nothing  done  in  the  parlors, 
to  begin  there,  and  spread  the  carpets,  and  put  up  the  curtains. 
This  brought  Miss  Allison  out;  and  she  told  the  ladies  that 
"  the  parlors  could  be  dispensed  with  for  one  day,  but  they 
must  have  a  place  to  eat  and  sleep  in.  The  most  she  hoped  to 
Ho,  this  afternoon  and  evening,  was  to  get  the  lodging-rooma 


LIFE    IN    A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  59 

ready,  and  the  dining-room  so  they  could  stay  in  it,  and  put 
up  a  ^tove,  and  get  out  dishes  enough  to  use  for  supper  an^ 
breakfJist."  Having  been  thus  communicative,  she  hastened 
back  to  her  task. 

A  bright  fire  was  blazing  on  the  kitchen  hearth,  over  which 
hung  a  kettle  of  boiling  water.  Taking  a  hint  from  this,  Mary 
told  her  new  friends  she  thought  the  most  difficult  job,  perhaps, 
was  the  unpacking  and  washing  of  the  crate  of  crockery.  If 
they  chose  to  attempt  it,  she  would  begin  there. 

Mrs.  Ely  now  arrived  ;  and,  seeing  how  the  others  were 
occupied,  she  set  down  her  basket  of  provisions  in  the  pantry, 
and  offered  her  services  with  Mrs.  Cook  in  the  sleeping  apart 
ments,  where  she  was  so  perfectly  at  home,  in  laying  palliasse  or 
mattress,  shaking  feather-bed  or  bolster,  airing  linen  or  blank 
ets,  that  she  won  golden  opinions  from  the  very  particular  per 
son  who  superintended  these  operations. 

Meanwhile  the  young  mistress  of  the  parsonage,  having  ti<  'i 
a  white  muslin  apron  over  her  plain  travelling  dress,  movol 
gracefully  around,  sustaining,  with  lady-like  composure,  th-i 
many  searching  side-glances  she  could  not  fail  to  see, —  unflut 
tered  by  the  whispers,  accidentally  overheard,  that  were  noi 
designed  for  her  ear,  —  quietly  guiding  in  the  arrangement  of 
china-closet  and  cupboard,  —  finding  time  for  a  pleasant  word 
to  the  gentletnen.  as  they  passed  in  and  out  with  the  furniture, 
—  improving  opportunities,  in  some  by-passage,  to  put  her  arm 
round  her  dear  father's  neck,  and  press  her  lips  to  his  cheek, 
and  keeping  up  a  constant,  though  mostly  imtte,  correspondence 
with  her  husband,  as  he  contrived  not  to  lose  sight  of  her  for 
many  minutes  at  a  time,  causing  the  color  to  heighten  on  her 
check,  occasionally,  by  his  manifest  admiration. 

By  six  o'clock  the  parsonage  began  to  look  inhabitable,  and 
the  ladies  dispersed.  Long  before  that  time,  Mary,  with  her 
quick,  intuitive  perception  of*1  character,  had  formed  estimates 
of  her  new  acquaintances.  She  felt,  already,  that  there  were 
some  people  in  Salem  whom  she  could  truft  and  love.  Her 


60  THE   SHADY    SIDE;     OR, 

heart  warmed  towards  Mrs.  Ely  as  to  a  mother.  In  Mrs. 
Crarnpton  she  saw  a  friend  on  whose  wisdom  and  fidelity  sho 
might  rely,  —  one  who  would  make  allowance  for  her  youth, 
and  be  considerate  of  her  in  all  circumstances.  The  frank, 
impulsive  Bessie,  she  was  previously  prepared  to  love ;  and,  as 
they  moved  side  by  side  from  kitchen  to  pantry,  a  telegraphic 
chain  was  soon  established  between  them.  When  they  parted 
at  twilight,  it  was  with  a  kiss  and  a  warm  pressure  of  the 
hand,  while  Edward  smiled  fondly  on  them  both. 

In  Mrs.  Lewis,  who,  to  save  appearances,  called  a  few  min 
utes,  she  saw  more  of  the  critic  than  the  friend,  and  felt 
relieved  when  the  cold,  gray  eyes,  which  scanned  her  so  envi 
ously,  withdrew. 

The  lively  Mrs.  Coleman  interested  her,  she  hardly  knew 
why ;  though  she  only  called  at  the  door  to  tell  Mr.  Vernon 
she  was  saving  herself  for  a  time  when  they  would  need  her 
more.  She  expected  to  make  great  efforts,  by-and-by,  to  keep 
his  young  wife  from  being  moped  to  death  in  this  dull  place. 

There  were  others,  in  regard  to  whom  Mary  only  felt  that 
they  were  well-meaning  women,  who  thought  highly  of  their 
minister. 

Bessie  Crampton  had  helped  Mary  set  the  tea-table ;  and, 
just  after  she  left,  there  tripped  up  the  steps  a  timid,  beautiful 
girl,  all  smiles  and  blushes,  whom  Edward  introduced  as  Carrie 
Wood.  Mary  spoke  lovingly  to  her,  and  put  her  arm  caress 
ingly  around  the  slight  form  to  draw  her  in.  But  Carrie  "  could 
not  stay ;  she  had  left  mamma  with  one  of  her  bad  headaches, 
and  must  hasten  back.  Here  was  a  jar  of  strawberry  jam, 
with  mother's  love."  Mary  kissed  her  good  evening,  and  she 
ran  lightly  back,  saying,  as  she  reached  her  mother's  room,  u  I 
did  not  dare  look  at  her  much  ;  but  she  has  the  most  beautiful 
voice  I  ever  heard,  —  just  like  music.  I  loved  her  as  soon  as 
she  spoke."  Dear  Carrie  !  The  love  which  she  inspired  was 
equally  spontaneous  and  warm.  Little  did  they  imagine  it 
would  ere  long  be  put  in  requisition  so  sadly. 


LlVK   IN    A    COUNTKY    PARSONAGE.  t$l 

Mr.  Vernon  and  sister  Harriet,  it  will  be  remembered,  had 
a  little  difference  of  opinion  on  a  certain  point  affecting  the 
credit  of  his  people.  He  resolved  it  should  be  settled  before 
tea ;  in  order  to  which,  he  led  her  to  the  pantry,  and  pointed 
triumphantly  to  the  well-stored  shelves.  There  were  hams  of 
bacon,  and  dried  beef;  balls  of  golden  butter,  and  a  fine  cheese; 
before  the  window,  a  joint  of  roast  meat,  and  a  chicken  pie, 
which  bore  the  familiar  stamp  of  the  deacon's  wife.  Here  was 
a  row  of  mince  pies,  looking  as  much  at  home  as  if  the  pastry 
had  been  rolled  on  the  very  kncading-board  that  lay  by  their 
side.  There  were  tins  of  cake  and  new  biscuit,  all  unconscious 
of  transportation  ;  and  a  pan  of  milk,  serenely  forgetful  of  its 
agitated  passage  hither  in  a  wooden  bottle. 

Miss  Harriet  took  the  surprise  quite  coolly,  and  proceeded 
to  open  her  own  basket  of  edibles,  that  Mrs.  Ely,  who  was 
present,  might  not  suppose  they  meant  to  throw  themselves  on 
the  generosity  of  the  parish. 

How  pleasant  to  the  young  minister  was  that  tirst  table- 
gathering  in  his  own  house,  with  its  novel  sense  of  independ 
ence  and  responsibility  !  With  what  grace  did  Mary  preside, 
—  her  father  seated  at  her  right  hand,  with  eyes  that  moistened 
whenever  he  looked  at  her !  The  good  deacon's  wife  seemed  not 
an  interloper,  but  as  one  of  the  family ;  while  Miss  Allison 
looked  the  very  genius  of  the  occasion. 

In  the  evening,  Deacon  Ely  came  for  his  wife,  and  made  a 
pleasant  call ;  in  the  course  of  which,  he  asked  Mr.  Vernon 
about  his  young  horse,  —  whether  he  wag  getting  much  accus 
tomed  to  the  harness,  —  and  at  length  said,  abruptly, 

"  Well,  Mr.  Vernon,  I  have  a  proposal  to  make  to  you. 
You  will  want  to  ride  about  considerable  this  winter,  and  your 
colt  is  not  very  strong.  You  had  hotter  take  one  of  my  ha  vs. 
I  am  about  through  with  my  fall  work  now,  and  can  got 
with  one.  When  I  want  the  span,  I  can  s^Vi  for  him  ;  but  it 
will  not  be  often.  So,  I  will  keep  your  coH,  .aid  the  boys  will 
6 


62  THE  SHADY  SIDE;  OR, 

exercise  him  for  you,  if  you  '11  trust  them.  What  do  you  think 
of  the  matter  ?  " 

"  0,  thank  you,  thank  you !  "  said  Mr.  Vernon.  "  If  I 
accept,  I  shall  have  the  best  of  the  bargain.  It  would  be  a 
nice  arrangement." 

"  Another  thing,"  said  the  good  man,  "  if  you  will  not  think 
aae  inquisitive.  What  will  you  do  for  a  vehicle  ?  " 

Mr.  Vernon  did  not  know.  He  had  thought  of  purchasing, 
but  concluded  to  wait  till  his  horse  had  more  power.  The 
deacon  was  about  to  suggest  a  way,  when  Dr.  Allison  quietly 
informed  him  that  he  had  ordered  a  carriage  at  the  manufac 
tory  in  Mayfield,  which  he  should  do  himself  the  pleasure  to 
present  to  his  children. 

As  the  worthy  parishioners  were  departing,  Mr.  Vernon  sent 
his  best  regards  to  Miss  Leevy,  and  his  thanks  for  her  careful 
hand  in  the  removal  of  his  library ;  to  which  Mrs.  Ely  replied 
that  Leevy  would  come  over  and  help  them,  if  she  could  be  of 
any  use.  Miss  Allison's  face  wore  a  demurrer,  but  it  did  not 
prevent  the  response,  "  Tell  her  to  come ;  her  needle  will  be 
quite  in  place  here  ;  besides,  we  want  to  see  her ;"  and  Mrs. 
Ely's  last  look  was  one  of  satisfaction. 

"  Edward,  how  could  you  ?  "  said  sister  Harriet.  The  young 
man  smiled  ;  —  he  knew  what  he  was  about. 

The  cool  evening  gave  a  snug  home  air  to  the  well-warmed 
and  lighted  dining-room.  Another  half-hour  of  social  converse 
passed,  and  then  this  new  Christian  household  was  organized 
by  the  setting  up  of  the  family  altar.  The  young  master  of 
the  family  entered  upon  his  duties,  as  the  priest  of  his  own  house, 
with  sacrifices  of  thanksgiving  and  praise.  Toward  this  service 
all  his  religious  thoughts  and  affections  had  been,  through  the 
day,  converging.  That  first  prayer  as  the  head  of  his  house  ; 
how  tender,  how  earnest,  how  full  of  unction  and  power  !  it 
well  became  the  occasion  and  the  man. 

0,  how  blessed  the  dwelling-place  that  is  devoutly  consecrated 
to  the  God  of  all  the  families  of  the  earth  !  Whatever  uncer- 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSON  AGE.  03 

tainties  hang,  to  human  view,  over  its  future  history ;  what 
ever  changes  it  may  witness ;  whether  predominates  there  tho 
voice  of  health  and  gladness,  or  the  wail  of  sorrow  and  pain ; 
whether  its  larder  be  filled  with  plenty,  or  made  lean  by  pov 
erty  ;  how  oft  soever  its  windows  may  be  darkened  by  calamity 
and  death,  —  one  thing  is  sure.  It  is  the  abiding-place  of  the 
Most  High  ;  —  the  angel  of  the  covenant  is  there,  and,  in  the 
deepest  night  of  grief,  that  dwelling  has  light,  and  hope,  and 
peace. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

"  She,  round  thy  sweet  domestic  bower, 

The  wreath  of  fadeless  love  will  twine  ; 
Watch  for  thy  step  at  vesper  hour, 

And  blend  her  holiest  prayer  with  thine." 

LET  us  look  again  into  the  old  "  Whitman  place,"  now  that 
it  has  fairly  established  its  new  name  on  the  lips  of  the  people, 
and  is  publicly  known  as  "  the  Parsonage." 

It  is  a  wintry  afternoon  in  December.  In  the  little  back- 
parlor,  a  bright  wood-fire  is  crackling  and  glowing  in  the  open 
"  Franklin ;"  —  for  the  forests  about  Salem  were,  in  those  days, 
unfelled,  and  fuel  was  cheap  ;  hence,  the  luxury  of  an  open  fire 
might  be  indulged,  even  in  a  parsonage,  without  the  charge  of 
extravagance.  In  the  centre  of  the  room,  on  a  piece  of  new 
drugget,  stands  the  tea-table,  ready  spread  for  the  evening 
meal.  Between  it  and  the  fire,  in  a  light  cane-seat  rocker,  sits 
the  young  mistress  of  the  dwelling,  —  her  little  work-stand  at 
her  side,  and  in  her  hand  a  paper-covered  volume,  which  she 
has  been  for  the  last  half  hour,  intently  perusing,  —  not  the 
latest  novelette,  but  the  October  number  of  a  well-known  quar 
terly,  the  Spectator. 

A  small  French  clock  on  the  mantel  strikes  the  half  hour 


t)4  THE   SHADY    SIDE?    OR, 

after  five,  and  that  sweet,  thoughtful  face  is  raised  from  the 
book  to  listen  for  a  familiar  step.  Then  the  eyes  return  not  to 
the  open  page,  but  fall  musingly  on  the  blazing  fire-light ;  and 
presently,  over  that  mental  attitude  of  happy  expectation,  steals 
a  dimness  which  makes  the  whole  scene  recede  into  a  waking 
dream  of  six  months  ago, — -a  dream  oft  repeated,  —  of  just  such 
a  twilight  hour,  in  some  quiet  parsonage,  waiting  his  return  to  a 
cheerful  supper  and  a  happy  hearth.  That  seemed  so  life-like, 
so  real ;  this  so  vague  and  dream-like.  Which  is  the  reality  ? 

A  gust  of  wind  breaks  the  thread  of  these  cogitations,  and 
calls  her  to  the  window.  She  looks  out  toward  the  church  and 
the  village  green.  The  snow  has  been  falling  very  quietly  all 
tie  afternoon,  ever  since  Edward  started  on  foot  to  visit  a  sick 
parishioner  two  miles  distant.  So  still  had  the  flaky  shower 
come  down,  that  she  was  surprised  to  see  how  it  had  accumu 
lated.  Around  the  old  Academy  a  few  boys  were  lingering,  to 
finish  a  game  at  snow-ball ;  and,  as  the  sudden  gale  rapidly 
increased,  the  whirling  eddies  of  snow  made  her  wish  that 
Edward  was  safely  housed  out  of  reach  of  the  storm. 

"  Ah,  he  has  come  !  "  She  hears  his  step  in  the  portico,  and, 
before  he  can  shake  the  snow  from  his  umbrella,  she  is  at  the 
door  to  let  him  in.  It  is  of  no  use  for  him  to  admonish  her  of 
the  driving  snow  and  the  chilling  wind ;  she  will  stand  in  the 
door  and  brush  the  feathery  flakes  from  his  hat  and  wrapper, 
till  he  forgets  the  discomfort  of  the  walk  in  the  pleasure  of  so 
joyous  a  greeting,  —  till  there  hangs,  across  her  forehead  and  in 
her  curls,  a  snowy  wreath  more  becoming  than  her  bridal 
pearls  ;  and  a  richer  glow  mantles  her  cheek  as  she  leads  the 
way  to  the  dear,  cosey  parlor,  and  adds  another  stick  of  maplo 
to  the  glowing  hearth.  Gown  and  slippers  are  brought  from 
the  adjoining  room  ;  and  now  the  tea  comes  in,  and  Mary 
listens  to  the  particulars  of  the  pastoral  visit,  and  to  the  pre 
vious  history  of  the  afflicted  family. 

While  the  "  tea  things  "  are  being  removed,  Edward  goes  to 
the  barn  tc  see  the  old  bay  horse  disposed  for  the  night. 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  65 

When  ha  returned,  the  table,  with  its  rich,  dark  cover,  was 
drawn  nearer  the  fire  ;  the  astral  burning  brightly  in  the  centre. 
On  one  side,  Mary  with  her  knitting,  and  by  the  other,  an  easy 
chair  drawn  up  for  him. 

]  [e  had  many  questions  to  ask  of  her  first  afternoon  alone, 
ind  she  had  much  to  answer. 

She  had  written  a  letter  home,  which  was  left  unsealed  for 
him  to  add  a  line  4  and  she  watched  his  varying  featui-es  while 
he  read,  now  with  a  smile,  some  playful  passage,  and  now, 
with  graver  mien,  some  expression  of  earnest  desire  to  do  good, 
or  of  inward  perplexity  in  her  new  vocation,  which,  with  her 
wonted  freedom,  she  had  confided  to  her  only  parent. 

Then  the  miscellany  —  theological  and  literary  —  which  she 
had  been  reading,  came  in  for  a  share  of  attention.  Some  pas 
sages  she  had  faintly  marked  with  her  pencil,  that  she  might 
recall  them  for  discussion  with  him.  And  this  was  not  the  first 
time  he  was  surprised  at  the  pertinence  of  her  criticisms,  and 
the  vigor  of  her  thoughts,  on  those  abstruse  themes  on  which 
he  had  been  wont  to  read  and  meditate  alone.  She  smiled  as 
he  said,  with  emphasis,  "  Two  are  better  than  one." 

And  now  followed  lighter  discourse,  as  Mary's  fancy  took  an 
excursion  to  her  childhood's  home,  and  she  pictured  the  group 
around  that  other  fireside,  more  familiar  than  her  own.  Very 
pleasantly  passed  the  evening,  till  nine  o'clock  brought  the  hour 
of  prayer. 

"  Truly,"  thought  Edward,  "  this  is  better  than  my  poor 
bachelor  room  at  Mr.  Cook's."  An  instant  after,  a  whispering 
thought  questioned,  "  Where  are  the  sermons  for  the  Sabbath 
just  at  hand  ?  "  —  and  a  faint  echo  answered,  "  Where  ?  " 

ISdward  and  Mary  felt  but  just  settled  in  their  new  abode 
The  three  weeks  since  their  entrance  had  flown  rapidly  by, 
though  on  heavy-laden  wings. 

Their  house  was  in  prime  order,  Miss  Allison  doing  nothing 
"  by  halves."  But  it  had  troubled  her  greatly,  that  she  could 
find  no  means  to  induct  her  young  sister  into  the  science  of 
6* 


66  THE  SIIADT  SIDE;  OB, 

house-keeping,  especially  that  department  which  provided  fur 
the  table.  Time,  in  those  days,  was  too  precious  to  spend  in 
experimenting.  Then,  she  had  so  little  confidence  in  Mary's 
capability;  and,  to  increase  the  difficulty,  "Thanksgiving," 
that  notable  state  festival,  was  just  at  hand,  demanding  the 
highest  culinary  skill. 

Very  pleasant  was  it,  truly,  to  have  so  experienced  a  man 
ager  at  the  domestic  helm ;  and  Edward  jnsisted  there  was 
time  enough  hereafter  for  Mary's  season  of  apprenticeship ; 
and  sister  Harriet  soon  settled  it,  in  her  mind,  that  she  never 
would  learn,  till  left  alone  to  depend  on  her  own  resources. 

The  family  gathering  at  "  the  feast "  was  delightful.  The 
doctor  and  William  arrived  the  night  before,  and  a  joyous  occa 
sion  they  made  of  it. 

Edward  had  but  a  day  and  a  night  to  bestow  on  his  sermon ; 
but  he  did  not  labor  in  vain.  He  had,  indeed,  no  nicely-spun 
logic  in  favor  of  "  conservatism"  or  burning  rhetoric  in  behalf 
of  " agitation"  He  entered  into  no  elaborate  analysis  of  the 
great  national  compact,  nor  made  an  effort  to  solve  the  oft- 
mooted  question,  whether  a  certain  form  of  evil  is  sin  '•'•per 
se,"  He  broached  no  new  philosophical  theories,  nor  denounced 
the  innovations  of  liberal  thinkers  in  theology.  Yet  his  dis 
course  was  by  no  means  tame.  His  own  heart  was  alive  to  the 
divine  goodness.  And  when  he  named  the  passage,  "  All  my 
springs  are  in  thee,"  and,  in  the  exuberance  of  his  own  joy  and 
gratitude,  led  an  excursion  up  many  a  stream  which,  for  a 
twelve-month,  had  been  flowing  in  with  blessing,  —  tracing  each 
by  a  different  channel  to  the  same  fountain-head,  —  not  an  audi 
tor  was  weary ;  and  wherever  devout  affection  burned,  it  waa 
kindled  to  a  brighter  flame. 

The  good  people  of  Salem  were  wont  to  "  send  portions  to 
them  for  whom  nothing  was  provided."  Yet  it  was  a  new 
pleasure  to  have  a  minister's  family  on  whom  to  shower  their 
benefactions  ;  and  the  gifts  were  neither  few  nor  small. 

It  was  a  bountiful  table  round  which  the  happy  circle  at  ths 


LIFE  IN   A   COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  67 

parsonage  discussed  the  excellence  of  the  viands,  and  tra  gen 
erosity  of  the  people,  and  the  mercies,  providential  and  spirit 
ual,  which  made  their  cup  to  overflow. 

There  was  some  drawback  to  Mary's  enjoyment,  in  the  oft- 
recurring  thought  that  she  was  to  lose  sister  Harriet  on  the 
morrow.  That  worthy  lady  had  a  plan  which  she  had  not 
divulged.  Many  a  time,  the  last  few  days,  she  had  asked 
Mary,  "What  will  you  do,  poor  child,  when  I  am  gone?"  —  and 
though  the  reply  was  always  a  hopeful  one,  it  did  not  seem  to 
settle  the  question. 

True,  Mr.  Vernon  had  offered,  as  a  matter  of  course,  to  pro 
vide  domestic  help  ;  but  his  young  wife  declined,  till  she  should 
have  put  her  own  hand  to  the  business,  and  thus  become  able 
to  guide  others  in  the  affairs  of  her  house.  She  would  con 
sent  to  hire  a  day's  labor  weekly ;  but  beyond  this  she  chose 
to  put  herself  to  the  work,  till  she  acquired  skill  by  expe 
rience. 

Sister  Harriet  had  not  been  at  the  parsonage  many  days, 
before  she  was  convinced  that  this  plan  was,  at  present,  imprac 
ticable.  The  difficulty  was,  to  get  time  to  do  all  that  was 
requisite,  even  in  a  family  of  only  two  members.  There  were 
BO  many  calls,  and  so  many  invitations,  and  such  projects  hinted 
at,  whose  shadows  were  already  visible,  it  was  plain  the  new 
minister's  wife  was  to  be  put  thoroughly  in  requisition. 

"  If  father  is  willing,"  thought  the  kind-hearted  sister,  "  Ann 
shall  come  down  when  I  leave,  and  stay  awhile,  till  Mary  gets 
through  making  acquaintances  among  the  people."  Father  was 
willing,  and  so  the  secret  was  announced,  much  to  the  satisfao 
tion  of  all  parties. 

The  doctor  could  not  be  persuaded  to  prolong  his  visit  another 
day.  Two  nights  in  succession  was  a  longer  absence  than  he 
often  ventured  ;  and  he  always  had  extra  calls  for  a  week  after 
Thanksgiving. 

And  was  not  Mary  very  lonely  after  their  departure  ? 
Edward  had  an  exchange  of  pulpit  services  for  the  next 


68  THE   SHADY    SIDE,'    OK, 

Sabbath,  and  so  chose  to  consider  himself  quite  at  leisure.  It 
was  very  pleasant  to  be  alone  with  him.  There  was  no  painful 
solitude  in  the  parsonage  yet. 

The  following  Tuesday  called  him  to  assist  at  an  ordination, 
wnich  would  keep  him  from  home  over  night.  With  Mary's 
consent,  he  asked  Olivia  Cook  to  stay  with  her  during  his 
absence. 

Miss  Leevy's  growing  familiarity  at  the  parsonage  surprised 
and  puzzled  the  gossips  of  the  parish.  That  she  should  feel  so 
much  at  her  ease  there,  was  matter  of  surprise  to  herself. 
When  she  received  the  first  message,  through  Mrs.  Ely,  she 
resolved,  from  a  sense  of  duty,  to  go,  expecting  to  have  an  awk 
ward  and  embarrassed  time  of  it.  But  not  so  was  poor  Leevy's 
night  of  penitence,  and  conflict,  and  noble  resolve,  to  be  rewarded. 
Her  minister,  if  he  knew  her  weakness,  was  too  generous  to 
seem  aware  of  it,  and  too  nice  in  his  adaptation  of  himself  to 
circumstances  to  fail  in  the  present  instance.  Miss  Olivia  was 
received  with  such  a  mixture  of  cordiality  and  respect,  both  by 
himself  and  wife,  as  soothed  her  spirit,  while  it  freed  her  from 
all  constraint  and  embarrassment. 

Instead  of  a  day,  she  stayed  a  whole  week,  making  herself 
very  useful,  even  in  the  estimation  of  Miss  Allison.  She  seemed 
to  drop  at  once  into  a  niche  ready-made,  which  she  felt  might 
properly  belong  to  her,  and  was  quite  agreeable.  Admitted  to 
the  generous  confidence  of  the  family,  and  treated  like  a  tried 
friend,  she  never  gave  them  occasion  for  regret ;  while  slander 
ous  tongues  were  silenced,  because  they  knew  not  what  to  say. 

After  those  two  days  alone  with  Mary,  Leevy  told  her  aunt 
that  people  would  find  the  minister's  wife,  though  young,  was 
not  a  child.  She  had  a  mind  of  her  own  ;  and,  though  unas 
suming,  and  willing  to  listen  to  the  opinion  of  Bothers,  her  own 
judgment  seemed  to  be  formed  on  almost  everything  connected 
with  her  relations  to  the  people. 

This  long  piece  of  road,  which  we  went  back  to  travel,  brings 
us  up  again  to  the  snowy  day  with  which  our  chapter  opens 


LIFE   IN   A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  G9 

and  the  next  Jay,  as  Mary  prophesied,  the  fine  sleighing  brought 
an  arrival  from  May  field.  It  was  Dick  and  the  delighted  Ann, 
with  a  package  of  letters  and  of  love,  to  say  nothing  of  (rther 
packages  quite  substantial. 

Now  there  will  be  some  one  in  the  kitchen,  and  we  shall 
hear  of  the  minister's  wife  out  among  the  people. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  [She]  knows 

Herself  the  mark  of  scrutinizing  eyes, 
And  curious  observations.     Apt  remarks 
Are  ventured,  subtle  questions  asked,  to  prove 
And  fathom  [her]  opinions." 

"WHAT'S  the  use,"  said  Aunt  Deborah,  "of  having  a  min 
ister's  wife,  if  she  will  not  go  ahead  in  all  kinds  of  benevolent 
effort  ?  " 

"  Sure  enough,"  thought  Mrs.  Pritchard ;  "  and  it  is  time  we 
knew  whether  our  pastor's  wife  is  good  for  anything  in  this 
line.  /  will  find  out." 

It  was  the  middle  of  the  morning,  and  Mary's  hands  were  in 
her  pastry,  when  she  heard  sleigh-bells  at  the  gate,  and,  send 
ing  Ann  to  the  door,  hastily  washed  off  the  flour,  and  laid  aside 
her  kitchen  apron,  preparatory  to  a  call. 

Mrs.  Pritchard  swept  into  the  back  parlor,  with  a  business 
like  air.  (Mary  had  seen  her  before,  and  she  was  not  a  woman 
to  be  easily  forgotten.)  "  She  supposed  Mrs.  Vernon  was  not  in 
the  habit  of  receiving  calls  at  this  hour;  but  she  had  come  in  to 
have  a  little  conversation  on  a  matter  of  some  importance. 
Things  had  got  very  much  behindhand  in  Salem,  since  their 
former  pastor  was  dismissed,  six  years  ago.  They  had  no  ladies 
who  were  willing  to  take  the  lead,  especially  in  the  village.  It 
was  a  long  time  since  they  had  sustained  a  female  pi  ay  or- meet 


70  Tl££   SHADY   SIDE;    OR, 

ing  in  this  neighborhood ;  but  she  presumed  there  was  one 
noto."  [A  pause.]  Mary  had  "  not  heard  of  one." 

"  Indeed !  "  replied  Mrs.  P. ;  "I  hoped  you  had  started  one 
before  now ;"  and  she  proceeded  to  inform  Mrs.  Vernon  that 
"  she  had  resolved  to  see  to  the  formation  of  a  sewing  society, 
and  had  come  over  to  the  village,  this  morning,  for  that  pur 
pose.  She  had  called  on  several  ladies,  who  seemed  willing  to 
have  something  done ;  and  s/ie  meant  to  have  it  arranged 
before  she  went  home." 

Mrs.  Vernon  was  ready  to  cooperate  with  others  in  any 
movement  of  the  kind.  She  thought  such  an  association  pleas 
ant  and  profitable. 

Mrs.  P.  was  "  glad  she  approved  the  project.  Indeed,  she  was 
sure  she  would ;  and  she  had  ventured  to  make  an  appointment 
for  to-morrow,  at  her  own  house.  Would  Mrs.  Vernon  draw 
up  a  '  constitution,'  and  bring  over  with  her,  that  they  might 
be  ready  to  organize ;  and  would  she  ask  Mr.  Vernon  to  come 
over  to  tea  ?  "  —  with  a  manner  that  plainly  said,  "  I  shall  not 
expect  him  till  tea." 

This  interview  ended,  Mary's  first  impulse  was  to  run  up  to 
the  study  and  make  report ;  but  the  thought  of  her  half-made 
pics  sent  her  in  haste  to  the  kitchen,  where  she  found  Ann,  in 
the  height  of  successful  experiment,  just  taking  them  from  the 
oven. 

The  girl  was  about  as  much  of  a  novice  as  her  mistress,  in 
the  nicer  arts  of  the  housewife.  Though  she  had  been  under 
the  tutelage  of  Miss  Allison  a  twelve-month,  she  had  been 
intrusted  with  no  responsibility,  —  scarcely  allowed  a  hand  in 
compounding  aught  for  the  table. 

Mary's  house-keeping  noviciate  was,  on  the  whole,  a  difficult 
one.  Unaccustomed  to  this  department  of  labor,  —  unused,  as 
yet,  to  the  habit  of  constant  forethought,  which  makes  the  task 
comparatively  easy  to  the  initiated  ;  with  many  watchful  eyes, 
to  note  her  failures,  —  there  were  times  when  she  did  most  bit 
terly  regret  that  her  girlhood  was  passed  in  such  freedom  from 


LIF.H  IN   A   COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  71 

contact  with  domestic  duties.  Once  and  again  she  tried  to 
make  Edward  acknowledge  his  mistake  in  hastening  their  mar 
riage  ;  but  that  gentleman  was  never  sufficiently  penetrating  to 
perceive  any  mistake.  He  would  only  smile,  and  say,  he  "  was 
satisfied,"  or,  "  she  was  doing  nobly,"  or,  "  she  would  make  the 
best- housekeeper  yet  in  the  professional  sisterhood." 

Mary,  indeed,  resolved  to  be  mistress  of  the  science ;  and  she 
did  eventually  attain  her  standard.  But  these  initial  lessons 
were  attended  with  many  a  mortification,  and  a  transient  heart 
ache,  and  some  secret  tears,  —  tears  which  were  recalled,  'mid 
the  trials  of  after  years,  with  much  the  same  feeling  as  tho 
perplexed  school -girl,  in  her  teens,  looks  back  to  those  she  shed 
over  her  first  broken  doll. 

Now,  in  addition  to  her  home  duties,  she  begins  to  realize 
that  the  parish  look  upon  her  as  a  sort  of  public  functionary. 
It  seems  a  mere  matter  of  course  that  she  should  draw  up  a 
"  constitution,"  and  organize  a  sewing  circle.  She  meditated 
the  subject,  half-mirthfully,  half-gravely,  till  Edward  cam* 
down  to  dinner,  and,  in  the  same  mingled  mood,  laid  it  before 
him. 

He  did  not  doubt  such  an  association  might  be  made  very 
useful ;  but  he  feared  Mrs.  Pritchard's  zeal  would  soon  cool. 
"  As  she  did  not  succeed  in  choosing  a  wife  for  the  minister, 
she  resolves  to  know  how  he  has  succeeded  himself.  "Well,  you 
can  help  her  form  a  'sewing  society,'  if  she  desires  it,  Mary." 

"  0,  yes !  "  was  the  reply  ;  "  but  about  the  '  constitution '  ? 
How  do  I  know  what  kind  of  organization  would  suit  her  ?  " 

"  Ah !  if  you  did,  you  would  be  wiser  than  she  is  herself. 
You  must  make  an  outline,  and  let  the  ladies  talk  it  over  and 
fill  it  up,  when  you  come  together ;"  and  Edward  retired  to  his 
study,  answering  only  with  a  laugh  the  question  which  followed 
him,  "  whether  the  document  should  have  '  thirty-nine ' 
articles." 

Dressing  quickly  for  the  afternoon,  Mary  seated  herselfj 
with  pen  and  paper,  —  in  wielding  the  pen  she  was  no  novice,  — 


72  THE   SHADY    SIDE  J    OB, 

that  she  might  dispose  of  the  business  she  could  not  exactly 
see  through. 

She  wrote  the  word  '  ocEtitution,"  and  "  article  first,"  and 
held  her  pen  suspended  a  long  time  thereafter. 

By-and-by  there  was  a  gentle  knock  at  the  study-door,  which 
was  as  quietly  answered ;  but  the  respondent  only  raised  his 
eyes  toward  the*  intruder,  —  mischievous  eyes  those  sometimes 
were,  —  and  plied  his  pen  as  diligently  as  ever. 

Very  softly  a  cushioned  footstool  was  pushed  to  the  table- 
side,  and  from  that  low  seat  a  pair  of  eyes  looked  pleadingly 
up,  and  a  sheet  of  paper  was  lightly  insinuated  between  that 
busy  pen  and  the  well-filled  page  upon  the  table.  Who  could 
resist  so  meek  an  appeal  for  aid  ? 

"  Well,"  said  Edward ;  "  you  want  a  name,  I  suppose,  tho 
first  thing ;  — '  This  society  shall  be  called,'  &c.  " 

"  0,  that  is  easily  disposed  of!  I  will  just  leave  a  blank  for 
Mrs.  Pritchard  to  fill." 

"  For  your  next  '  article '  you  want  a  list  of  officers,  with 
specifications  relating  to  their  choice.  Then  must  follow  a 
statement  of  the  duties  appertaining  to  each  office.  Another 
article  must  relate  to  the  stated  meetings  of  the  society ;  and 
another  still  to  the  object." 

"  0,"  said  Mary,  roguishly,  "  that  can  be  filled  out  before 
hand  !  —  'to  test  the  resources  of  the  wife  of  our  pastor.'  But, 
seriously,  Edward,  what  object  do  you  suppose  they  will  think 
of  aiding  ?  What  will  be  best  ?  " 

"  There  will  be  enough,  without  me,  to  make  suggestions  on 
that  point,"  was  the  reply.  "  Where  money  is  to  be  appropri 
ated,  there  are  many  advisers.  There  will  doubtless  be  as 
many  different  '  objects  '  named  as  there  will  be  dollars  earned. 
I  made  some  acojuaintance  with  such  industrial  associations  while 
I  was  in  the  seminary." 

"Come;  we  must  proceed  with  this  precious  document.  I 
am  so  sorry  to  hinder  you !  and  to-morrow,  too,  will  be  broken 


LIFE   IN    A  COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  78 

up,  first  to  take  me  over  to  this  gathering,  and  then  to  come 
for  me,  which  you  must  be  sure  and  not  do  till  tea-time." 

Edward  looked  a  shade  more  thoughtful.  He  had  hoped  to 
have  the  morrow  in  his  study,  without  interruption.  It  was 
only  for  a  moment.  "  There,  my  dear,"  said  he,  "  the  outline 
you  have  is  enough  to  begin  with ;  and,  in  the  hands  of  the 
ladies,  it  will  soon  grow  to  a  '  constitution.'  " 

It  was  with  a  palpitating  heart  that  Mary  responded  to  her 
husband's,  good-by,  at  Mrs.  Pritchard's  door,  and  turned 
toward  the  parlor.  That  worthy  lady  left  her  to  enter  alone, 
while  she  ran  down  the  steps  after  Mr.  Veruon,  to  say  that  she 
should  have  tea  precisely  at  six. 

There  was  quite  a  group  of  ladies  already  assembled  in  the 
large  parlor ;  and  a  busy  hum  of  voices,  which,  upon  the 
entrance  of  the  minister's  wife,  subsided  into  an  awkward 
silence,  broken  by  an  occasional  whisper. 

Her  quick  glance  around,  as  she  bowed  and  spoke  to  those 
whom  her  eye  met,  soon  noted  the  absence  of  some  she  had 
expected  to  see  on  this  occasion.  Neither  Mrs.  Ely,  nor  Misa 
Olivia,  nor  dear  Bessie,  was  there.  Could  there  be  any  design 
in  this  ? 

The  course  of  proceeding  was  after  the  usual  fashion  of 
things  in  such  a  community.  No  one  would  propose  anything, 
and  the  pauses  were  long  and  embarrassing. 

Mrs.  P.  called  on  Mrs.  Vernon  for  a  "  constitution ;"  and 
she  took  out  the  paper,  with  the  remark  that  it  was  a  mere  plan, 
to  be  filled  up  by  mutual  consultation  and  agreement.  When 
asked  to  read  it,  she  replied  that  it  was  not  yet  in  a  readable 
fihapc,  and  passed  it  to  Mrs.  P.,  who  declined  taking  it. 

Mary  then  remarked  that  the  first  article  referred  to  the 
name  by  which  we  would  call  our  association ;  and  added, 
smilingly,  "  Will  not  some  of  the  ladies  propose  a  name  ? "  A 
pause  ensued,  till  it  became  irksome,  when  a  knot  of  women  in 
one  corner  commenced  a  low-toned  conversation  between  theni- 
7 


74  THE   SHAPY    SIDE  ,*    OR, 

selves,  and  a  bevy   of  girls  opposite  began  to   whisper  and 


Mary  appealed  to  Mrs.  Pritchard  for  a  name,  but  that  lady 
referred  the  matter  back  to  herself;  and  it  was  plain  she  did 
not  intend  to  smooth  the  way  for  the  young  minister's  wife,  but 
rather  enjoyed  her  rising  embarrassment.  She  said,  coolly, 
"  We  don't  know  much  about  such  business  matters  here.  Mrs. 
Vernon  is  probably  familiar  with  them,  and  we  wish  she  would 
arrange  it.  We  shall  all  be  willing  to  trust  it  to  her  ;"  and  she 
exchanged  glances  with  Mrs.  Buel,  who  said,  with  her  wonted 
nasal  drawl,  "  Certainly,  Mrs.  Vernon  is  the  fittest  person  to 
draw  up  the  writings." 

Mary's  spirit  began  to  be  somewhat  stirred,  and  to  gather 
itself  up  for  the  emergency.  Enough  of  this  delay,  —  some 
thing  should  be  done. 

She  proposed  a  name,  and  moved  its  adoption.  Some  thought 
less  girls  laughed  ;  and  all  were  silent  but  Mrs.  P.,  who  thought 
it  might  do,  if  there  was  nothing  more  appropriate. 

Mary's  quick  thought  hit  upon  a  happy  expedient.  She 
said,  it  seemed  difficult  to  get  an  expression  of  opinion.  It 
.might  be  well  to  presume  that  the  ladies  acquiesced  in  what 
ever  was  proposed,  unless  some  one  should  offer  objections. 
Thus,  making  silence  the  token  of  affirmation,  she  quietly  sug 
gested  one  thing  after  another,  till  the  blanks  she  had  left  were 
nearly  filled. 

When  she  reached  "  the  object  "  for  which  the  society  would 
labor,  Mrs.  P.,  with  a  little  help  from  her  echo,  Mrs.  B.,  ob 
jected  to  everything  proposed.  When  urged  to  express  her 
own  preference,  she  declined  to  say  more  ttan  that  she  would 
be  pleased  with  something  upon  which  all  could  unite.  She 
evidently  thought  she  had  reached  another  difficult  place,  which 
would  test  the  wisdom  of  their  leader.  To  her  surprise,  Mrs. 
Vernon  waived  the  decision  till  a  future  meeting,  that  there 
might  be  more  time  for  consideration  and  conference. 

The  rest  was  easily  despatched  ,  and,  after  some  pleasant 


LIFE   IN   A  COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  75 

remarks  on  the  propriety  of  observing  certain  business  forms, 
though  it  did  seem  rather  an  awkward  thing  for  ladies  to  vote, 
the  constitution  was  read,  and  actually  adopted  by  a  show  of 
hands. 

This  damper  to  conversation  being  withdrawn,  sociability 
increased,  and  the  ways  and  means  of  raising  money  by  the 
noodle  were  somewhat  freely  discussed. 

The  afternoon  was  nearly  spent,  and  Mary  was  just  dismiss 
ing  the  vexation  she  had  suffered,  and  beginning  to  feel  less  of 
a  stranger,  when  Mrs.  P.  whispered  to  several  ladies,  and  soon 
there  was  an  ominous  silence.  The  lady  then  proceeded  to  say 
she  was  pleased  with  the  regulation  requiring  some  religious 
exercise  at  these  gatherings.  She  supposed  the  meetings  would 
be  opened  or  closed  with  prayer ;  and  she  looked  inquiringly 
toward  the  minister's  wife,  who  replied,  "  Yes,  or  with  devo 
tional  .singing." 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  P.,  "  I  should  like  to  have  a  prayer  this 
afternoon.  As  some  of  the  ladies  must  leave  immediately  after 
tea,  had  n't  you  better  close  the  meeting  now  with  prayer,  Mrs. 
Vernon  ?  It 's  half  past  five,  already."  * 

Mary  felt  that  every  eye  was  upon  her  ;  nor  did  the  signifi 
cant  interchange  of  glances  between  Esther  Ann  Brooks  and 
Miss  Lewis  escape  her  notice.  One  moment  conscience  whis 
pered,  "  Ought  you  not  ? "  —  the  next  sensibility  shrank,  and 
baid,  "  I  cannot"  With  more  composure  in  her  manner  than  in 
her  feelings,  she  replied  that  Mr.  Vernon  would  be  in  soon,  and 
perhaps  we  had  better  wait  for  him  to  close  for  us.  "  That 
would  be  pleasant,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  P.,  "  if  there  would  be 
time."  Yet  she  made  her  request  more  urgent,  and  Mrs.  Buel 
added  her  opinion  somewhat  decisively  •  and  one  or  two  others 
spoke  of  its  getting  late,  and  of  having  far  to  go.  And  again 
the  young  minister's  wife  said  to  herself,  "  What  shall  I  do  ?  " 
She  felt  that  it  was  hard  and  ungenerous  to  press  her  so,  and 
she  plainly  saw  that  the  motive  was  merely  a  cold  curiosity  to 
hear  her  pray. 


76  "     THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OR, 

• 

More  words  passed,  till  Mary  felt  her  self-rkapect  touched, 
and  resolved  to  end  the  matter.  She  half-regretted  that  she 
had  hesitated,  at  first ;  but  now,  indeed,  she  was  in  no  fit 
mood  for  the  service.  A  sense  of  injustice  brought  a  sudden 
glow  to  her  cheek,  and  a  choking  in  her  throat.  At  length, 
with  gentle  dignity,  she  said,  "  If  the  ladies  wish  it,  Mrs. 
Pritchard,  and  you  will  lead  the  exercise,  I  have  no  objection  to 
close  the  meeting  now,"  —  "  I !  0,  no ! "  interrupted  that  lady, 
—  "  if  you  refer  it  to  me,  I  prefer  to  wait  till  Mr.  Vernon  comes, 
and  call  on  him.  He  must  be  in  soon.  Do  not  delay  your  tea 
for  him,  if  it  is  ready." 

The  amiable  hostess  vouchsafed  no  reply,  but  went  quickly 
out  to  inspect  her  table.  Gradually  the  hum  of  voices  again 
filled  the  parlor ;  but  there  was  one  young  heart  that  ached. 
Even  through  the  entrance  of  the  minister,  and  the  supper,  and 
the  prayer,  and  the  parting  salutations,  the  rudely-swept  chords 
of  that  sensitive  heart  continued  to  vibrate  painfully.  Edward 
needed  no  one  to  tell  him  that  his  young  wife  had  been  ungen 
erously  treated,  and  her  feelings  pained. 

As  he  put  Mflry  into  the  sleigh,  and  their  hostess  stood  in 
the  door  to  smile  and  bow  them  away,  he  relieved  his  feelings 
by  an  energetic  snap  of  the  whip,  that  said  to  the  "  old  bay," 
"  Take  us  hence  as  fast  as  possible."  When  fairly  on  the  road 
and  an  arm  was  spared  from  the  rein  to  be  put  protectingly 
around  her,  and  lips  near  her  face  said,  tenderly,  "  What  is  it, 
darling  2  "  it  was  no  wonder  that  Mary  burst  into  tears. 

0,  child  of  sensibility !  thou  must  patiently  school  thy  heart 
to  many  a  harder  lesson,  ere  thou  finish  thy  earthly  tuition 
and  win  the  priz?. 


LWB  IN  A   COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  77 


CHAPTER  XL 

"  He  is  not  the  flower  of  courtesy." 
"  Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity." 

ONE  ple<*sant  day,  near  the  close  of  December,  Mr.  Vernon 
asked  Mary  to  dispense  with  a  regular  dinner,  take  an  early 
lunch,  and  be  ready  at  twelve  for  a  ride  to  West-woods.  To 
Mary's  query,  whether  the  case  were  very  urgent,  he  repeated 
a  remark  made  to  him  the  evening  previous,  at  the  prayer- 
meeting,  by  an  inhabitant  of  that  district :  "  I  guess  you  are 
pretty  choice  of  that  young  wife  of  yours.  Folks  our  way  are 
feeling  a  little  slighted,  —  begin  to  think  you  don't  mean  to 
show  her  over  our  side." 

"  Why,  Edward  !  "  exclaimed  she,  "  is  Mr.  Dennis  such  a 
coarse  man  ?  He  looks  quite  differently  in  church." 

"  0,  yes !  he  has  been  a  very  rough  character,  —  a  great 
talker,  and  a  sort  of  acknowledged  wit  among  his  comrades.  It 
is  less  than  a  year  since  he  became  interested  in  religious  things, 
and  what  civilization  he  has  is  due  to  this  source.  There  is  a 
marked  change  in  him;  but  he  is  still  rude  in  manners  and  in 
speech.  He  is  the  only  Christian  man  in  that  neighborhood, 
It  is  a  hard  place ;  but  it  forms  part  of  my  field,  • —  of  our 
field,  rather,  —  and  we  must  cultivate  it." 

Mary  laughed,  and  said  it  was  a  curious  idea  this,  of  being 
exhibited  round  the  parish.  She  feared  she  would  contribute 
little  by  this  visit  to  the  cultivation  of  anything  but  curiosity. 

"  A.h  !  "  was  the  response,  "  be  not  so  faithless.  I  expect 
the  people  will  behave  much  better  than  usual,  because  you  are 
with  me.  The  fact  is,  some  of  them  are  about  half  wild.  You 
will  enjoy  the  ride,  at  any  rate." 


78  THE    SHADY    SIDE;     OK, 

And  a  romantic  drive  it  was,  after  a  distance  of  two  miles 
from  the  village.  The  ground  was  bare  and  frozen,  and  the 
road  was  continually  varying.  Now,  a  broad  strip  of  worthless 
common ;  anon,  a  narrow  track,  which  would  not  admit  two 
vehicles  to  pass  each  other ;  here,  a  smooth  path  of  half  a  mile 
through  a  clean  grove  ;  onward.,  a  rocky  and  precipitous  asceiit. 
After  many  windings  and  abrupt  turnings,  the  road  entered  a 
dense  forest,  thick,  it  ieerned,  even  in  winter,  with  the  trees 
stripped  of  foliage.  Here  were  gigantic  oaks,  with  limbs 
gnarled  and  bare  ;  lofty  maples,  with  a  few  scarlet  leaves  still 
clinging  to  their  lower  branches ;  elms,  graceful  despite  the 
want  of  room,  their  giant  trunks  embraced  by  huge  bald  grape 
vines  in  many  a  convolution ;  while  here  and  there  a  towering 
pine,  in  its  greenest  robes,  relieved  and  beautified  the  scene. 
An  occasional  opening  in  the  forest  revealed  the  gray  mountain- 
ledge  beyond,  at  the  base  of  which  were  the  group  of  dwellings 
which  sheltered  the  inhabitants  of  West-woods. 

Once  and  again  did  Mary  exclaim,  "  How  delightful  this 
drive  must  be  in  summer  !  "  and  the  vacant  assent  of  him  who 
sat  by  her  side  told  that  his  mind  was  on  another  theme.  He 
was  thinking  of  the  moral  degradation  of  these  secluded  peo 
ple.  If  his  ministry  reached  and  blessed  them,  it  must  be  car 
ried,  to  them.  They  must  be  sought  as  wandering  sheep  on  the 
mountains. 

There  were  only  nine  families,  and  their  pastor  resolved  to 
be  impartial,  and  call  at  every  house. 

Those  calls  !  They  were  at  once  painful  and  ludicrous,  yet 
not  unmixed  with  mutual  profit. 

The  arrival  of  the  carriage  at  the  door  of  a  dwelling  gen 
erally  brought  all  the  inmates  to  the  window.  Sometimes  half 
a  dozen  faces  were  thus  exposed,  when  there  would  ensue  a 
general  scampering;  and  the  minister,  upon  entering  with  his 
bride,  would  find  some  aged  matron  alone  at  her  spinning- 
wheel,  or  a  demure  maiden,  who  only  stayed  because  she  could 


LIFE   IN   A  COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  79 

not  get  away,  quietly  knitting,  as  if  she  had  not  spoken  *nce 
morning. 

A  group  of  half-grown  children  followed  them  from  house  to 
house,  by  the  back  passages,  jostling  each  other  in  the  old 
kitchen  entries,  to  get  a  peep  at  "  the  parson's  wife  "  through 
the  crevices  of  the  shrunk  ceiling,  or  of  the  door  set  ajar  for 
that  purpose.  There  was  one  pair  of  large,  saucy  eyes,  with 
which  Mary  became  in  this  way  quite  familiar. 

Among  these  irreligious  households  were  two  aged  women, 
infirm  in  body  and  shattered  in  mind,  to  whom  the  prayer  of 
their  young  pastor,  and  his  few  simple  words  upon  the  love  of 
Jesus  and  the  heavenly  rest,  were  as  cold  water  to  a  thirsty 
soul.  Occasionally,  a  child  more  tame  than  the  rest  was  at 
tracted 'to  Mary's  side  by  the  offer  of  a  gay  picture-book,  and 
charmed  there  by  her  gentle  kindness.  Shy  as  were  most  of 
these  people,  they  all  felt  gratified  at"  so  early  an  introduction 
to  the  minister's  wife,  —  especially  when  they  heard,  from  her 
own  lips,  that  she  had  not  yet  completed  the  tour  of  more  than 
half  the  parish.  They  were  not  left  till  the  last.  O,  human 
nature  !  thou  wearest  the  same  stamp  in  the  lofty  and  the 
lowly. 

When  the  pastor  and  his  wife  alighted  at  the  door  of  Mr. 
Dennis,  they  were  met  with  a  boisterous  welcome.  Mary's 
hand  was  grasped  as  in  a  vise  and  the  first  words  of  salutation 
were,  — 

"  So,  you  ain't  afraid  to  come  round  among  these  outside  bar 
barians  !  Wai,  I  guess  they  're  'fraid  enough  of  you,  for  there  '3 
been  such  a  skitin',  and  dodging,  and  racing,  hereabouts,  as  if  a 
flock  of  scared  sheep  was  up,  and  running  for  life."  Where 
upon  he  laughed  so  loud,  that  Mary  looked  up  to  the  low, 
cracked  wall  overhead,  as  though  she  feared  it  might  feel  the. 
concussion.  The  jovial  man  saw  the  expression  of  her  eye,  and 
saiil,  "Never  fear,  Miss  Vernon  ;  it  won't  come  down,  —  it's 
used  to  't." 

Mrs.  Dennis,  a  sharp  thin-visaged  woman,  now  entered,  with 


80  THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OR, 

teakettle  in  hand,  which  she  held  through  the  ceremony  of  in 
troduction,  and  then  proceeded  to  hang,  in  primitive  fashion 
on  the  great  black  trammel  in  the  huge  fire-place,  over  burning 
logs  that  would  have  fed  a  moderr.  cook-stove  many  days.  She 
then  turned  back,  and,  wiping  her  hands  on  her  apron,  told  Mrs. 
Vernon  she  was  ready  to  take  her  "  things."  Mary  looked 
doubtfully  toward  her  husband,  and  he  was  about  to  speak, 
when  his  garrulous  host  saved  him  tho  trouble. 

"  Stay  to  tea  in  such  a  place  ?  To  be  sure  you  will ;  he 's  done 
it  many  a  time,  and  he 's  alive  yet." 

Mr.  Vernon  smiled  assent,  and  Mary  laid  off  her  bonnet,  half- 
amused,  half-vexed  by  the  coarse  volubility,  which  left  not  a 
pause  unimproved.  At  length,  the  feeling  of  annoyance  deep 
ened  to  disgust ;  and  she  was  thinking  what  a  trial  it  was  to 
have  to  do  with  such  uncultivated  people,  when  Mr.  Dennis 
said  abruptly  — 

"  We  are  homely  folks  out  here,  Miss  Vernon ;  but  not  so 
bad  as  we  might  be,  nor  as  we  have  been  either,  for  that  mat 
ter,  I  hope.  Miserable  creaturs  we  were,  —  as  he  can  tell 
you,  —  a  frolickin',  and  drinkin',  and  swearing ;  but  the  Lord 
had  mercy  on  us  :"  —  and  his  voice  took  a  subdued  tone,  and  his 
face  the  same  expression  it  wore  every  Sabbath,  as  he  listened 
to  the  Gospel  message. 

Mary's  feelings  underwent  a  rapid  change,  and  her  interest 
deepened,  as  this  refomed  sinner  went  to  his  cupboard  over  the 
mantel,  and  took  down  a  black  bottle  half  filled  with  liquor. 

"  This,"  said  he,  "  was  my  companion  ;  but  I  have  something 
better  now ;"  and  he  drew  from  the  side-pocket  of  his  coarse 
jacket  a  much-soiled  Testament,  adding,  — "  You  see,  I  had 
carried  black  Betty  here  so  long,  that  I  felt  kind  o'  lonely 
without  something,  and  so  I  clapped  in  this  here  Testament, 
and  I  Ve  carried  it  ever  since." 

"A  good  exchange,"  said  Mary,  feelingly;  "two  very  dif 
ferent  companions." 

•'True,"  said  he,  "they're  not  much  alike, — yet  there '» 


LIFE    IN    A   COCNTRY    PARSONAGE.  81 

fpertt  in  'era  both  ;  but  different  kinds  o'  sperit,  I  reckon.  No 
offence,  I  hope,  Mr.  Vernon,"  seeing  the  minister  look  grave. 

"  You  mean  none,  Mr.  Dennis ;  but,  to  me,  the  comparison 
seemed  hardly  reverent." 

"  There  it  is,  now,"  said  he,  "  I  have  so  long  played  the  fool, 
and  been  in  the  habit  of  turning  everything,  that  it 's  come  to 
be  second  natur." 

He  put  the  bottle  on  the  shelf  again,  saying,  with.emphasis, 
"  Not  a  drop  of  that  cussed  stuff  has  wet  my  lips  since  you  and 
Deacon  Ely  stayed  with  me  a  year  ago  next  week."  Then 
turning  to  Mrs.  Vernon,  — 

"  If  they  had  left  me  that  night,  I  should  ha'  took  to  drink 
ing  for  relief.  The  Lord  had  sent  to  my  soul  an  arrow  of  truth, 
headed  at  loth  ends,  and  I  could  n't  get  rid  of  it.  I  thought, 
if  I  only  could  have  a  drop  from  my  bottle,  I  could  bear  up 
better  under  my  distress ;  but  they  warned  me  against  it ;  and 
they  did/i  Y  leave  me  till  I  found  peace  in  Jesus.  The  Lord 
reward  'cm  for  it." 

He  looked  up,  and,  seeing  a  moisture  in  those  soft  eyes  before 
him,  he  added,  "  You  ought  to  have  been  here  in  that  are 
revival ;  't  was  a  blessed  time." 

This  was  a  new  scene  to  Mary.  She  glanced  at  Edward ; 
there  was  an  unusual  light  in  his  eye,  which,  somehow,  brought 
to  her  mind  that  passage,  — "  He  that  converteth  a  sinner  from 
the  error  of  his  ways,  shall  save  a  soul  from  death,  and  shall 
lil  le  a  multitude  of  sins." 

All  this  while  the  taciturn  wife  of  Mr.  Dennis  was  passing 
back  and  forth  from  kitchen  to  pantry,  preparing  an  early 
supper. 

A  clean,  white  cloth,  of  homespun  linen,  was  spread  on  the 
rickety  table;  cups  arid  plates,  of  coarse  blue  and  white  ware. 
placed  around  ;  dried  beef,  and  cheese,  and  pickles,  and  apple 
sauce,  made  their  entree  at  suitable  intervals;  then  a  plate  of 
golden  butter,  and  the  sweet  brown-bread,  and  boiled  cakes  so 
hu<re  and  uncouth  as  well  to  merit  the  name  of  "wonders;' 


82  THE   SHADY   SIDE  J    OK, 

with  a  platter  of  "  cold  victuals,"  set  on  the  most  unnoticeabla 
corner,  —  it  being  to  the  hearty  farmer  an  indispensable  appen 
dage.  The  black  earthern  tea-pot  was  taken  up  from  the 
embers  and  set  upon  the  table ;  each  one  drew  up  a  chair  for 
himself,  and  Mary  was  seated  at  the  homeliest  tea-drinking  in 
which  she  had  ever  participated.  Mr.  Dennis  was  highly 
gratified  that  she  seemed  to  relish  their  plain  fare,  and  quite 
delighted  that  she  offered  to  help  him  eat  his  boiled  beef  and 
cold  turnip.  "A  woman,"  he  said,  "  that  can  eat  cold  victuals 
is  worth  somethin'." 

After  supper,  the  eccentric  man  took  from  his  pocket  an  old 
tin  tobacco-box,  and,  opening  it  in  Mr.  Yernon's  face,  said,  with 
evident  triumph,  "  There's  that  last  quid,  —  stays  there  yet ;" 
explaining  to  the  lady,  —  who  was  thinking  the  display  no  way 
promotive  of  digestion,  —  "You  see,  miss,  this  good  man  of 
yours  wanted  to  cure  me  of  all  my  bad  habits,  and  so  he  at 
me  about  chawing;  asked  if  it  didn't  make  me  hanker  after 
the  bottle.  I  'd  thought  o'  that  myself.  So,  you  see,  I  chopped 
right  off.  That's  the  very  quid  I  had  in  my  mouth ;  I  clapped 
it  in  there,  and  it'll  stay  there,  I  reckon." 

Was  there  nothing  heroic  in  this  denial  of  appetite,  this  bat 
tling  with  the  hindrances  to  a  life  of  godliness  ? 

The  carriage  was  at  the  door,  when  Mr.  Vernon  remarked 
the  growing  mildness  of  the  weather,  and  said  to  Mr.  Dennis, 
"  You  must  have  had  a  hard  walk  home  last  night  —  it  was  so 
cold  and  windy." 

"  Ay,"  said  the  converted  man  ;  "  it  was  a  stiff  Nor'wcster ; 
but  I  did  n't  feel  it,  sir ;  we  had  such  a  good  meeting,  I  walked 
home  light  as  a  feather.  What  you  said  about  '  loving  much 
where  there's  much  forgiven,'  and  Deacon  Ely's  prayer,  set  me 
right  up ;"  and  Mary  noticed  that  the  back  of  his  rough  hand 
was  drawn  across  eyes  that  had  suddenly  filled  with  emotion. 

In  a  moment  the  melting  mood  was  gone,  and  he  said, 
"  What  cur'ous  chap  was  that  you  changed  with,  last  Sunday  \ 
With  all  his  fine  words,  I  could  n't  make  nothin'  out  by  him 


LIFE   IN    A  COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  83 

I  've  lived  all  the  week  on  what  you  gi  'n  us  the  Sunday  afore ; 
as  the  sailor,  you  know,  lived  a  fortnight  on  the  smell  of  a  jack- 
knife  that  had  cut  pork." 

M;iry  had  now  taken  her  seat  in  the  carriage,  and  as  Mr. 
Vernon  was  still  on  the  ground,  his  out-spoken  parishioner  took 
occasion  to  tell  him,  in  a  confidential  tone,  —  which  she  ^ould 
have  heard  at  three  times  the  distance,  —  that  he  "  was  glad 
the  minister  had  got  so  good  a  wife ;"  that  she  was  "  a  real  com- 
moj'um,"  and  he  "  must  fetch  her  out  here  agin." 

Notwithstanding  the  sun  was  already  behind  the  mountain, 
and  the  parsonage  was  four  miles  distant,  the  young  pastor  re 
solved  to  take  the  longer  route,  that  led  by  "  Roaring  Brook," 
and  introduce  Mary  to  one  more  dwelling. 

The  evening  was  clear  and  moonlit;  and  they  rode  on  silently, 
till  each  guessed  the  other's  thought.  It  w^s  of  the  future 
home  of  the  righteous  ;  where  the  many  members  of  "  the  one 
body  "  shall  be  refined  from  all  their  earthly  grossness*and  in> 
purities  ;  where  the  harmony  shall  be  so  perfect  that  the  finest 
ear  and  most  sensitive  heart-strings  shall  be  rudely  jarred  never 
more. 

Thus,  they  brought  to  their  hearts  lessons  of  patience  and 
gentle  forbearance  with  what  is  repulsive  in  others,  especially 
those  who  are  under  the  hand  of  the  great  Polisher,  and  yet  to 
shine  as  living  stones  in  the  spiritual  temple  on  high. 

When  they  crossed  the  dashing  rivulet,  and  drew  up  before  a 
low,  brown  cottage,  Mary  shrunk  from  another  call.  Her  fre 
quent  alternations  of  feeling,  for  the  last  six  hours,  had  wearied 
her ;  and  the  single  remark  of  Edward,  in  reference  to  the 
dwelling  before  them,  that  "  it  contained  the  poorest  family  in 
his  flock, '  made  her  anticipate  a  scene  to  which  she  felt  inad 
equate. 

Yet,  Mr.  Yernon  did  not  look  as  if  he  were  performing  an 
unpleasant  duty.  Two  or  three  bars  were  let  down,  and,  step 
ping  over,  they  were  at  the  door.  To  Mary's  surprise,  he  led 
her  into  a  room  so  clean  and  cheerful,  that  she  scarce  noticed 


84  THE    SIIADY    SIDE  J    OK, 

immediately,  how  scantily  it  was  furnished.  A  stinted  fire  was 
burning  on  the  broken  hearth ;  a  bed  in  one  corner,  with  a  clean, 
but  oft-patched  counterpane,  a  single  chair  and  stool,  and  ail 
old  chest,  formed  the  only  furniture,  except  the  much- worn 
rocking-chair,  in  which  was  the  venerable  woman  of  nearly 
fourscore,  totally  blind ;  she,  with  her  widowed  daughter  and 
grandchild,  forming  the  family.  On  a  rough  shelf,  under  the 
south  window,  stood  a  monthly  rose  arid  geranium,  carefully  nur 
tured,  tokens  of  the  tastes  and  habits  of  more  prosperous  days. 

The  aged  matron  was  alone  when  her  visitors  arrived.  She 
knew  her  minister's  step,  and  spoke  his  name  before  he  crossed 
the  threshold ;  she  knew,  also,  that  one  was  with  him  of  lighter 
step  than  himself,  and  was  prepared  to  welcome  his  young  wife  : 
BO  preternaturally  quickened,  upon  the  loss  of  one,  are  the  re 
maining  faculties. 

Mary  sat  by  her  side,  and  held  the  wrinkled,  wasted  hand  in 
hers,  alid  listened  with  a  full  heart  as  this  handmaid  of  the 
Lord  spoke  of  his  great  goodness,  —  of  his  comforts  which  de 
lighted  her  soul,  and  of  that  better  land  where  is  no  darkness 
no  night.  Neither  did  she  omit  to  mention  the  kindness  of 
her  pastor  in  days  gone  by,  and  his  consideration  of  her,  in 
bringing  his  "  dear  young  wife  to  this  humble  cottage."  In  all 
that  she  said,  there  was  that  peculiar  refinement  and  delicacy 
of  feeling  which  long  years  of  intimate  communion  with  heaven 
never  fail  to  produce,  be  the  outward  allotment  what  it  may. 

She  asked  Mary  several  questions ;  and,  being  once  reminded 
by  her  daughter  that  she  had  made  that  inquiry  before,  replied 
with  great  simplicity,  "  Perhaps  I  have  ;  but  she  will  excuse 
me.  I  do  so  love  to  hear  her  voice ;  it  reminds  me  of  su?i- 
shine  and  the  flowers  ;  and  it  helps  me  form  an  idea  of  her 
face,  —  a  swedt  face,  I  am  sure." 

It  was  good  to  talk  with  these  afflicted  disciples  of  Christ ; 
precious  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  rich  consolations  which 
abounded  in  the  midst  of  their  deep  poverty  and  many  trials. 
Their  faith  in  God  and  patience-  in  tribulation  refreshed  the 


LUTB   IN   A   COUNTRY'  PARSONAGE.  55 

beholder.  As  Edward  said,  on  his  way  home,  "  When  I  get 
very  low  and  desponding,  and  feel  that  I  need  preaching  to,  I 
come  over  and  sit  an  hour  with  old  Mrs.  Harrison." 

Mary  went  home  soothed,  though  weary ;  and  that  night  she 
dreamed  of  mighty  forests  and  ancient  ruins,  and  untamed 
heathen  children  ;  and,  above  the  whole,  let  mid-way  down 
from  heaven,  the  New  Jerusalem,  where  walked  the  just  made 
perfect,  in  immortal  youth. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  The  letters  were  right  long,  and  written  fair 
•  I  merely  take  a  sentence  here  and  there, 
"When,  as  methinks,  they  did  express  it  well." 

A  FREQUENT  correspondence  with  her  father  was  to  Mary  a 
source  of  great  pleasure  and  profit.  From  a  tender  age,  he 
had  supplied  to  her  the  place  of  both  parents,  and  encouraged 
her  to  a  free  and  most  beautiful  confidence  in  himself  as  her 
repository  and  counsellor.  Now  that  she  had  entered  on  a  new 
sphere,  it  was  quite  natural  that  she  should  make  him  the 
sharer  of  her  passing  joys,  arid  trials,  and  perplexities. 

No  circumstance  of  her  life  in  Salem  had  as  yet  given  her 
so  much  uneasiness,  as  the  occurrence  at  the  formation  of  tho 
sewing  society.  She  had  made  no  progress,  since,  in  Mrs. 
Pritchard's  acquaintance ;  and  occasional  remarks,  that  came  to 
her  ears,  made  it  evident  that  the  thing  had  been  used  to  her 
disadvantage.  At  a  subsequent  meeting,  one  good  Christian 
woman  had  said  to  her,  with  much  trembling,  '  I  hope,  Mrs. 
Vrernon,  if  you  are  asked  to  pray  this  afternoon,  you  will  not 
excuse  yourself." 

The   matter  pressed   upon  her  conscience,  and   she  waited 
anxiously  for  her  fathers  judgment.     lie  expressed  much  s_,  in- 
pat  hy  for  her  in  her  peculiar  position,  and  added: 
8 


86  THE   SHADY    SIDE  J     OH, 

"  It  might  have  beca  best  had  you,  at  first,  complied  with  the 
request  It  is  a  service  which,  in  these  days,  is  expected  of  a 
minister's  wife,  and  which  she  ought  to  be  prepared  to  perform. 
Yet,  there  was  great  allowance  to  be  made  for  your  declinature ; 
and,  after  the  thing  was  pressed  to  the  exteat  you  speak  of,  I 
think  your  quiet  adherence  to  your  decision  was  justifiable  and 
becoming.  I  fear  you  have  laid  the  thing  to  heart  more  than 
was  needful,  though  I  would  not  impair  that  niceness  of  moral 
sense  which  I  have  helped  you  to  cultivate.  But  do  not  dis 
tress  yourself  about  it  more.  You  will  have  constantly  recur 
ring  opportunities  to  show  that  you  do  not  shrink  from  duty, 
even  at  the  expense  of  that  unobtrusiveness  which  often  ren 
ders  a  service,  of  the  kind  alluded  to,  more  of  a  trial  than  most 
of  our  sex  could  imagine  it  to  be. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  of  your  little  stated  prayer-meeting. 
It  was  right,  my  daughter,  it  was  like  yourself,  not  to  defer 
what  you  felt  might  be  properly  required  of  you.  The  Lord 
will  bless  you  in  this  good  beginning ;  and  I  trust  the  time  is 
not  distant,  when  these  religious  interviews  with  Christian  sis 
ters,  at  the  mercy-seat,  will  be  to  you  a  sacred  privilege,  a 
source  of  consolation  and  strength. 

"  The  '  report '  about  which  you  ask,  ought  not  to  have  been 
mentioned  to  you.  It  is  surely  not  worth  the  ink  or  paper  it 
would  require  in  the  detail,  to  say  nothing  of  a  more  precious 
commodity  —  time.  As  your  sister's  allusion  to  it  has  excited 
your  curiosity,  I  will  just  say,  succinctly,  that  our  minister 
returned  from  consociational  meeting,  having  seen  at  his  stop 
ping-place  a  woman  from  your  church,  who  regaled  him  with 
large  doses  of  Salem  gossip.  Among  other  things,  she  asked 
if  Mr.  Vernon's  wife  did  not  belong  to  the  aristocracy  of  May- 
field  !  and  said  she  did  n't  visit  enough  to  suit  the  people, 
though  there  were  some  families  whom  she  called  on  pretty 
often ;  but  there  were  many  people,  of  poor  advantages,  and 
some  invalids,  among  whom  she  might,  if  disposed,  do  a  great 


LIFE.  IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  87 

deal  of  good.  Mr.  Baxter  heard  her,  —  you  can  imagine 
how,  in  his  cool,  -quiet  way,  — -till  he  thought  it  was  enough  ; 
when,  rising  abruptly,  he  said,  'Why,  my  good  woman,  I 
married  Miss  Allison  myself,  —  and  I  want  to  say  to  you  that 
I  married  her  to  Mr.  Edward  Vernon,  ?iot  to  the  parish  of 
Salem ! "  1  ic  effect  of  this  timely  hint  was  such  that  Mr, 
Baxter,  grave  as  he  is,  laughs  outfight  when  he  recalls  it. 

"  But  do  not  trouble  your  little  head  too  much  about  what 
rumor  says  of  you.  The  world  is  full,  not  only  of  wicked  men, 
but  of  unreasonable  men  and  women,  too. 

"  Ah  !  I  am  interrupted  by  a  messenger  from  Mr.  Smith's. 
His  hired  man  has  contrived  to  fall,  and  fracture  his  skull, 
—  another  achievement  of  King  Alcohol.  When  you  come, 
let  Mr.  Vernon  bring  his  last  temperance  lecture,  to  preach  in 
the  evening.  In  haste,  fondly, 

"YouR  FATHER." 

In  Mary's  next  letter,  she  speaks  of  finding  it  needful  to 
guard  against  a  sense  of  loneliness,  which  would  steal  upon  her 
at  evening,  as  she  sat  alone  in  her  quiet  back-parlor,  while 
Edward  was  sermon-making  in  the  study.  She  proceeds  : 

"  I  have  several  times  opened  the  piano  for  company  ;  but  the 
music  is  sure  to  bring  him  down.  Then,  there  is  so  much  lost 
time  to  be  recovered  somewhere,  and  it  is  generally  taken  from 
his  sleeping  hours.  I  am  sorry  the  evening  is  his  favorite  sea 
son  for  study,  —  not  so  much  on  my  own  account ;  I  fear  it  is 
not  well  for  him.  He  frequently  makes  late  hours,  and  the 
next  day  finds  him  pale  and  languid.  Is  it  right  ?  I  am  just 
getting  my  eyes  open  to  the  importance  of  regulating  my 
household  affairs  and  my  own  habits  so  as  to  guard  against 
encroachments  upon  his  time.  For  this  reason,  I  do  not  get  on, 
as  fast  as  seems  desirable,  in  my  acquaintance  with  the  people 
Our  population  is  scattered,  and  it  is  slow  traversing  the  field. 
Whenever  I  go  out,  Edward  must  accompany  me,  and  I  think 
he  is  becoming  somewhat  disheartened  about  his  pulpit  prepara 
tions. 


88  THE   SHADY    BIDE  J     OE, 

"  I  have  one  day's  memorable  experience,  in  pastoral  visiting, 
which  I  must  save  to  tell  you  at  my  next  visit  home.  We 
called  on  ten  families ;  which  was  doing  a  little  too  much.  It 
took  me  several  days  to  recover  from  the  fatigue  and  excite 
ment.  As  a  set-off  to  the  reports  which  have  reached  you,  I 
must  tell  you  of  a  compliment  I  received  at  one  of  the  ten 
places  above  mentioned.  The  master  of  the  house  followed  us 
to  the  carriage,  and  told  Edward  he  was  glad  to  find  that  his  wife 
was  '  a  real  commodium,'  —  I  am  not  sure  of  the  orthography, 

—  an  epithet  which  I  confess  myself  at  a  loss  to  define,  though 
I  am  very  certain  it  was  designed  to  be  highly  complimentary. 

"  Edward  exchanged  last  Sabbath.  Passing,  on  his  way,  the 
house  of  a  distant  parishioner,  he  was  hailed  by  the  inquiry, 
'  Going  to  swap  to-day,  Mr.  Yernon  ?  Then  I  guess  I  '11  try 
to  go  up  to  meetin'.' 

"  The  new  preacher,  Mr.  C.,  is  an  odd  genius,  —  a  bachelor, 
in  rather  a  low  state  of  civilization.  He  managed  his  plate  at 
table  in  a  way  that  recalled  that  favorite  observation  of  your 
colleague-doctor,  '  I  am  fond  of  compounds.'  At  noon  he 
lay  down  to  rest,  and  left  the  marks  of  his  boots  on  the  white 
counterpane.  He  was  not  slow  to  declare  his  supreme  indiffer 
ence  to  females  in  general,  though  quite  deferential  to  me  in 
particular.  If  Mr.  Baxter  should  entertain  him  over  one  Sab 
bath,  I  almost  think  he  would  reiterate,  in  earnest,  what  he  so 
often  says  playfully,  that  there  is  need  of  a  new  professorship 
for  theologues.  But  his  preaching  was  the  most  eccentric, 
though  not  without  talent.  His  morning  discourse  was  on  the 
Bubject  of  ghosts  and  witches ;  the  other,  on  the  natural  attri 
butes  of  the  angels.  One  of  these,  he  said,  was  exceeding 
swiftness  ;  and  his  proof,  —  the  angel  who  visited  Daniel,  who 
left  heaven  in  the  morning,  and  reached  this  planet  at  the  tinm 
of  the  evening  sacrifice.  '  From  heaven  to  earth  in  twelve  hours ! 

—  and,  recollect,  it  is  two  millions  of  miles  from  the  sun  hither. 
Amazing  swiftness ! ' 

"  I  thought,  dear  father,  you  would  hardly  call  this  a  math 
ematical  demonstration. 


LIFE    IN    A   COUNTRY    PARSONAOB.  6 

"  I  was  giving  Edward  an  account  of  the  sermon,  after  his 
return,  and  he  said  I  was  rather  a  severe  critic  ;  it  might  do 
his  sermons  good  to  be  picked  to  pieces  in  that  way.  After  a 
while,  he  asked  me  seriously  to  criticize  his  preaching,  and 
insisted  that  it  was  proper  I  should  do  it,  and  would  be  for  his 
profit !  What  do  you  think,  dear  father  ? 

"  The  twilight  is  fast  deepening,  and  my  fourth  page  is  nearly 
filled.  Do  not  my  long  letters  weary  you?  My  heart  tells 
me,  Nay.  How  sweet  this  privilege  of  writing  to  the  absent ! 
Sweeter  still  between  us  is  the  tie  of  prayer  !  Will  you  not, 
father,  write  me  often ;  and  pray  still  oftencr  for  your  child, 
who  needs  —  0,  how  much  !  —  larger  supplies  of  heavenly 
wisdom  and  grace  ? 

"  The  shadows  are  gathering  fast.  How  typical  of  life ! 
Shadmvs  everywhere,  —  under  the  brightest  sky.  But  no 
matter,  if  sunshine  only  prevail  in  the  heart. 

"  Dutifully,  MARY." 

From  Dr.  Allison's  reply  to  this  letter,  we  extract  the  fol 
lowing  sentiments  on  a  subject  of  some  importance  : 

"  What  do  I  think  of  your  criticizing  your 

husband's  pulpit  performances  ?  It  is  a  point  upon  which 
much  might  be  said.  I  should  prefer  to  talk  with  you  about 
it,  and  at  some  length.  I  may  write  unguardedly,  or  be  inter 
rupted  before  I  finish.  I  should  want  to  make  some  confes 
sions,  too,  in  view  of  my  own  practice,  in  years  gone  by.  My 
children  were  trained  to  hear  more  strictures  upon  the  pulpit 
than  it  was  best  to  utter.  It  was  a  habit  with  me,  acquired  I 
hardly  know  how ;  but,  I  am  sensible,  not  profiting  much,  spir 
itually.  The  style  and  logic  of  the  preacher,  his  doctrine  and 
its  seasonableness,  were,  you  well  remember,  topics  of  frequent 
discussion  in  the  family,  —  so  that  I  ought  not  to  be  surprised 
that  you  hear  preaching  critically.  After  a  certain  standard, 
your  judgment  of  pulpit  ministrations  is  pretty  well  fonned. 
As  you  are  a  minister's  wife,  this  may  be  of  service  to  you 


90  THE   SHADY   SIDE  ;     OR, 

You  may  call  Edward's  attention  to  some  things  which  he 
might  overlook.  You  can  judge,  better  than  he,  how  a  thing 
will  strike  the  hearer.  A  minister's  wife  should  keep  her  eyes 
and  ears  open,  and  hear  her  husband  us  critically,  at  least,  as 
she  would  another.  Yet,  there  is  need  of  caution,  lest  you 
carry  the  habit  so  far  as  to  impair  your  comfort,  if  not  your 
spiritual  improvement,  in  hearing  the  word.  My  poor  sister 
—  your  aunt  Deborah  —  wore  herself  out  early  ;  and  of  her  it 
was  often  said,  she  was  more  fatigued  than  her  husband,  after 
the  labors  of  the  Sabbath.  He  was  not  an  easy  preacher,  and 
she  heard  him  with  a  degree  of  sympathy  and  nervous  solici 
tude  that  almost  precluded  enjoyment.  On  the  other  hand, 
here  is  our  devout  Mrs.  Baxter,  who  sits  at  church,  you  know, 
so  complacently,  with  her  eyes  half-closed,  as  if  resigning  her 
self  to  a  safe  current  that  was  to  float  her  to  the  haven.  Good 
woman  !  she  probably  never  entertained  the  idea  that  her  hus 
band  could  say  or  do  anything  that  was  not  quite  to  the  pur 
pose  ;  while,  in  regard  to  some  unpleasant  peculiarities,  his 
people  have  said,  a  hundred  times,  '  It 's  a  wonder  his  wife 
does  n't  tell  him.' 

"  Shunning  either  extreme,  my  daughter,  as  I  believe  your 
own  good  judgment  will  incline  you,  make  yourself  as  useful  to 
Edward  as  you  may,  freely  discussing  —  if  it  suits  him  — 
whatever  relates  to  his  success  as  an  ambassador  of  Christ."  ,  , 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  Every  pastor  stands  in  need  of  encouragement,  of  cheerfulness,  of 
penoe,  in  his  own  home,  to  enable  him  to  bear  what  life  brings  with  it,  and 
itill  to  preserve  the  power  of  working  for  the  bene5t  of  mankind." 

IT  is  the  evening  of  the  New  Year's  Sabbath,  and  the  clock 
ia  the  little  back-parlor  of  the  Salem  parsonage  strikes  the 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  91 

h'ur  of  ten.  Till  that  sound,  no  word  has  been  spoken  thero 
for  the  last  half-hour.  Mary  has  been  writing  a  letter  home  ; 
and  she  supposed  that  Edward,  in  his  easy-chair,  with  his  hand 
over  his  eyes,  was  resting  after  the  extra  labors  o*  the  day. 

The  lateness  of  the  hour  reminded  her  of  his  last  night's 
vigils,  and  she  quickly  laid  aside  her  pen,  with  the  exclamation, 
11 1  am  keeping  you  up,  Edward!  " 

To  her  surprise,  he  answered,  in  a  voice  that  told  of  deep 
emotion,  "  I  may  as  well  be  here,  as  on  the  pillow ;  I  could  n't 
sleep."  Her  tender  and  earnest  inquiries  into  the  cause  of  his 
distress,  at  length  elicited  the  fact  that  he  was  deeply  mortified 
by  what  he  called  "  the  utter  failure  of  his  New- Year's  ser 
mon." 

It  was  in  vain  that  Mary  assured  him  "  the  discourse  was 
edifying."  He  had  meant  it  should  be  more  than  that;  and 
it  would  have  been,  had  his  good  beginning  been  carried 
through. 

".But,"  said  Mary,  "  you  have  had  too  much  to  do  this 
week ;  —  that  wedding  Thursday  evening,  and  so  many  calls  ; 
then  your  lecture,  and  to-day  two  sermons,  besides  the  '  com 
munion  '  service,  and  your  Bible-class  this  evening,  —  you 
ought  to  have  omitted  that ;  it  has  been  too  much." 

"  Too  much !  Yes,  unless  it  were  better,"  he  replied,  bit 
terly  ;  "  it 's  all  been  a  failure,  from  the  lecture  through,  and  I 
feel  ashamed  to  look  my  people  in  the  face  again." 

"  0,  Edward !  you  must  not  feel  so ;  they  know  how  you 
were  hindered.  Besides,  they  were  really  interested,  —  Deacon 
Ely  I  noticed  particularly." 

"  Ah '  so  did  I ;  and  I  thought,  too,  of  what  he  said  when  he 
first  spoke  of  my  marriage."  (Here  his  voice  began  to  soften.) 
"  Why  did  I  want  to  allude  to  that  ?  It  is  too  bad." 

"  But  you  must  tell  me  now,"  said  the  young  wife. 

"  It  vexed  me  at  the  time,"  he  continued,  "  and  perhaps  it 
will  you,  although  the  deacon  is  such  a  favorite.  His  congrat 
ulations  were  cordial  enough ;  but  he  followed  them  with  the 


92  THE    SHADY   SIDE;     OR, 

'  hope  that  this  connection  would  not  be  the  means  of  drawing 
off  my  heart  from  my  great  work,  or  diminishing  the  labor  I 
was  wont  to  bestow  on  my  sermons.'.  It  was  the  hardest  thing 
he  ever  said  to  me.  I  suppose  he  will  think,  now,  there  was 
some  occasion  for  it ;"  and  again  his  head  sank  upon  his  hand. 

"  0  !  "  said  Mary,  playfully,  "  he  didn't  know  me  then  ;  he 
was  quite  excusable."  After  a  few  moments'  silence,  in  which 
she  inly  resolved  that  the  deacon's  caution  should  not  prove  a 
prophecy,  so  far  as  she  could  help  it,  she  asked  Edward,  ten 
derly,  yet  a  little  archly,  what  remedy  he  would  administer  to 
one  of  his  people  in  such  a  state  of  mind  as  his  own.  "  Would 
he  not  think  the  probe  needful,  to  develop  some  such  feeling  as 
wounded  pride  ?  If  you  have  done  the  best  you  could,  in  the 
circumstances,  have  you  reason  to  distress  yourself?  " 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  I  have  not  done  as  well  as  I  could.  Bid 
I  not  have  an  exchange,  last  Sabbath,  on  purpose  to  leave  me 
time  for  extra  effort  ?  But  it 's  of  no  use.  I  '11  never  exchange 
again,  in  such  circumstances.  It  does  n't  help  me.  I  only  pre 
sume  on  the  time,  and  let  it  slip  between  my  fingers.  The  fault 
is  in  myself,  Mary,  and  not  in  circumstances." 

This  idea  was  not  to  be  allowed,  for  a  moment,  by  his  fair 
apologist.  "  Was  it  not  to  be  expected  that  the  cares  of  a  first 
season  at  house-keeping  would  somewhat  derange  his  plans  for 
study,  and  crowd  upon  his  time  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  I  have  excused  myself  on  that  account  long 
enough.-  I  have  hardly  written  a  Decent  sermon  in  three 
months.  I  have  been  looking  forward  to  more  leisure.  I 
ehould  have  buckled  on  the  harness,  and  made  up  my  mind  that 
I  was  to  work,  for  the  future,  amid  a  constant  pressure  of 
engagements.  There  is  no  easier  time  coming." 

"  Yet,"  said  Mary,  "  your  self-reproaches  are  not  just.  You 
ought  to  allow  something  for  the  transfer  of  yourself  to  a  new 
routine  of  living.  I  am  sure  the  path  will  be  smoother  by -and- 
by,  when  all  things  get  settled  and  accommodated  to  each 
other."  She  did  not  ask  if  he  looked  back  regretfully  to  his  old- 


Lli'i    IN    A    COONTUY    PARSONAGE.  93 

bachelor  state.  Her  faith  had  no  such  mistrust ;  yet  there  was 
something  in  her  tone  that  touched  a  chord  of  tender  feelings  in 
the  heart  so  full  of  bitter  self-accusings. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  he,  gently,  "  things  have  gone  too  smoothly 
Blest  with  such  a  home,  I  have  given  myself  up  to  the  enjoy 
ment  of  the  passing  hours  till  severe  study  has  seemed  irksome. 
'But  I  ought  never  to  have  distressed  you  with  these  wretched 
feelings.  They  are  nothing  new.  I  have  been  in  such  a  mood 
before,  and  doubtless  shall  be  again." 

"  And  why  should  not  I  share  in  everything  that  afflicts 
you  ?  "  said  this  true  wife ;  "  especially  when,  if  there  is  any 
fault,  it  is  mine,  as  well  as  yours.  I  have  not  been  sufficiently 
aware  of  the  value  of  time  to  you.  Hereafter  we  will  have  our 
whole  domestic  life  arranged  with  the  study  in  tlie  centre,  and 
I  shall  hope  for  great  results." 

Edward  shook  his  head ;  and  yet  this  cheerful  courage  was 
infectious,  and  he  was  soon  talking  calmly  and  hopefully  of  lib 
plans  and  prospects. 

Among  other  things,  Mary  suggested  the  idea  of  more  system 
in  his  study-hours,  —  of  taking,  regularly,  the  earlier  part  of 
the  day.  She  spoke  of  her  minister  as  using  .the  morning, 
invariably,  and  —  unless  the  case  was  urgent  —  refusing  to  see 
any  one  before  dinner. 

Edward  replied,  "  In  a  place  like  this,  a  minister  cannot 
deny  himself  to  his  people.  He  must  see  them  when  they 
choo.se  to  call.  Besides,  I  cannot  study  by  rule.  System  is 
well  for  such  men  as  Mr.  Baxter;  but  I  have  my  moods,  and 
must  take  advantage  of  them.  When  the  afflatus  comes  over 
me,  I  must  write,  even  if  the  night  overtake  me.  Without  it, 
it 's  not  of  much  use  for  me  to  try.  I  might  hold  my  pen  a 
half-day  in  vain." 

Mary  was  on  the  point  of  asking  if  this  were  not  owing 
greatly  to  habit ;  but  she  checked  the  remark,  lest  it  should  lead 
him  to  new  self-reproaches. 


94  THE   SHADY   SIDE;     OR, 

"  There  is  one  thing,"  continued  he,  half-soliloquizing ;  "  I 
might  decide  upon  my  subjects  earlier,  and  save  the  time  I  lose 
by  vacillating  in  the  choice  of  themes.  My  extempore  dis 
course,  too,  might  be  studied  first,  and  the  'brief  prepared. 
Then  I  might  pursue  my  written  theme  with  more  freedom,  to 
the  last  hour.  I  will  try  this ;  though  I  doubt,  after  all,"  said 
he,  smiling,  "  whether  I  can  be  fettered  by  such  rules." 

"  And  now,"  said  Mary,  "  what  are  you  going  to  preach 
about  next  Sabbath  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  he,  quite  gayly,  "  you  are  for  a  practical  appli 
cation  of  the  rule,  I  see;"  and  notwithstanding  she  recalled 
the  question,  insisting  that  he  was  too  weary  to  take  another 
thought  for  the  future  till  he  had  rest,  he  felt  the  impulse  of 
their  conference,  arid  went  to  the  study  for  his  book  of 
"  Themes."  But  it  contained  only  single  topics,  and  he  was 
resolved  upon  a  "  series." 

Mary  had  heard  her  father  say  he  wondered  ministers  did 
not  make  more  use,  in  their  preaching,  of  Scripture  biography ; 
and  she  mentioned  this  to  Edward. 

After  a  few  moments'  thought,  he  exclaimed,  "  That  will  be 
just  to  my  purpose.  It  will  give  me  a  fine  opportunity  to  say 
some  things  I  could  not  well  come  at  in  any  other  way.  I  will 
write  a  biographical  series.  In  the  course  of  it,  I  shall  tako 
Balaam,  and  have  a  '  particular  demonstrative '  on  the  sin  of 
covetousness.  But  who  would  have  thought,"  he  added, 
abruptly,  "  that  I  should  ever  have  had  such  a  talk  as  thia 
with  ymi,  —  that  I  should  have  admitted  a  witness  to  these 
heart-struggles  ?  Many  a  time  have  I  tossed  feverishly  all 
Sunday  night,  consumed  with  anguished  thought;  but  you  are 
a  blessed  comforter." 

The  fire  had  burned  to  ashes,  on  the  hearth,  and  the  lamp 
was  dim ;  but  the  light  of  love  burned  brightly  there,  and  the 
flame  of  gratitude  kindled  warm  on  one  heart-altar.  Truly,  a 
man  of  Edward  Vernon:s  temperament  had  great  cause  of 


LIFE   IN   A   COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  95 

thankfulness,  that  the  Lord  had  given  him  not  only  a  wife  of 
tender  affections,  but  a  "woman  of  wise  and  understanding 
heart. 

"  So,  hope,  and  love,  and  gratitude, 
Dispelled  that  miserable  mood 
Of  darkness  and  of  doubt  " 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  It  is  true,  there  are  shadows,  as  well  as  lights  ;  clouds,  as  well  as  sun 
shine  ;  thorns,  as  well  as  roses  ;  but  much  happiness,  after  all." 

NOT  long  after  the  events  of  the  last  chapter,  another  letter, 
we  find,  was  written  from  the  parsonage  to  the  dear  Mayfield 
home.  In  it  Mary  writes  : 

"  You  may  smile  to  hear  me  say  that  I  am  growing  miserly, 
—  miserly  of  time.  Everything  is  planned  with  an  eye  on  the 
fact  that  there  are  but  six  days  in  a  week,  from  Sabbath  to 
Sabbath.  '  The  great  hebdominal  wave  '  —  as  your  favorite 
D.D.  calls  it,  —  punctual,  inexorable,  rolls  in  upon  us,  with  its 
freight  of  Sabbath  duties ;  and  often  it  seems  as  if  Edward  had 
but  just  buffeted  it,  and  taken  breath,  when  in  rolls  its  successor. 
The  insufficiency  of  time  for  all  that  it  seems  desirable  to  do 
ia  a  great  drawback  to  the  pleasures  of  ministerial  life.  To  pre 
pare  two  sermons  so  as  to  satisfy  himself,  is  alone  as  much  as 
Mr.  Vernon  ought  to  do  in  a  short  week ;  and,  putting  the  ser 
mons  out  of  the  account,  the  miscellaneous  duties  involved  in 
the  care  of  &  family  and  parish,  with  the  reading  of  periodicals, 
would  of  themselves  fill  up  the  week.  The  two  together  crowd 
and  jostle,  and  keep  him  all  the  time  overworked.  I  wonder  if 
it  is  BO  with  all  '  the  profession.'  I  suspect  that  he  docs  more 
pastoral  duty  than  most  of  his  brethren. 

"  Beginning  here,  without  a  family,  and  finding  himself  soon 


96  THE    SHADY    SIDE  J     OR, 

'mid  the  multiplied  duties  of  a  '  revival,'  he  has  labored  more 
from  house  to  house,  than  ought  to  be  expected  of  him  here 
after.  Yet,  it  is  difficult  now  to  do  less,  without  causing  dis 
satisfaction  among  the  people.  Deacon  Ely  tells  him  he  must 
spare  himself,  and  not  heed  any  murmurs  of  discontent.  You 
must  see  more  yet,  dear  father,  of  this  good  deacon.  He  came 
in  last  evening,  "and,  as  he  made  no  errand,  after  sitting  awhile, 
I  offered  to  call  Mr.  Vernon.  '  No,  no,'  said  he ;  '  let  him 
study ;  I  came  to  see  you.'  Was  it  not  very  kind  in  him  ? 
Edward  has  commenced  a  series  of  discourses,  in  which  Deacon 
Ely  is  much  interested.  So,  he  sat  and  talked  about  the  preach 
ing,  and  had  many  things  commendatory  to  say  of  his  young 
minister,  as  he  called  him ;  some  of  which  I  took  care  to 
report  to  that  gentleman ;  and  it  did  him,  —  as  your  poor 
patient  would  say,  — '  a  power  of  good.' 

.....  "  When  you  write  to  New  York,  please  thank 
brother  Henry  for  his  gift.  I  don't  know  what  our  people 
will  say  to  such  curtains  of  fine  embroidered  muslin.  They  are 
too  beautiful  for  my  parlor;  but,  as  they  are  a  gift,  I  shall 
venture  to  put  them  up. 

<;  I  am  looking  for  brother  William  every  day.  Will  you  send 
by  him  those  pieces  of  simple  music  in  the  library,  with  my  old 
instruction-book?  I  have  offered  to  teach  Carrie  Wood,  and 
she  is  eager  to  begin.  Her  father  has  a  notion  that  it  would 
injure  his  patronage  in  the  Academy,  to  send  his  own  daughter 
away  to  school.  I  love  the  dear  child  like  a  younger  sister. 

"  What  a  delightful  thing  it  is,  dear  father,  to  feel  that  one 's 
life  is  a  joy  and  blessing  to  others !  Such  a  feeling  makes 
me  very  happy.  Is  not  this  a  beautiful  world  ?  A.nd  life, 
though  earnest,  though  laborious,  may  it  not  be  made  eery 
bright?"  .... 

The  new  curtains  certainly  made  some  sensation  in  Salem , 
but  Miss  Leevy  took  it  upon  her  to  explain  the  matter.  When 
it  became  generally  known  that  they  were  a  present  from  the 


UFE   IN    A   COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  97 

rich  half-brother,  everybody  was  satisfied,  and  rejoiced  in  the 
good  fortune  of  the  minister's  wife.  There  are  people  in  the 
world  who  would  have  felt  all  the  worse  for  that. 

Notwithstanding  the  disadvantages  under  which  she  entered 
the  field,  the  young  pastor's  wife  was  gradually  gaining  ground 
in  the  confidence  and  affection  of  the  people.  True,  the  stream 
of  her  popularity  was  obstructed  by  many  an  eddy  and  counter- 
current  ;  but  it  widened  and  deepened  constantly,  though  almost 
imperceptibly. 

Olivia  Cook  was  a  woman  of  so  much  character,  and  her 
presence  in  the  parish  so  pervading,  that  her  friendship  for  the 
minister's  family  was  invaluable,  in  correcting  those  false  im 
pressions,  begotten  by  lying  rmior,  in  the  minds  of  the  ignorant 
and  credulous.  There  was  one  thing  worthy  of  mention  in 
regard  to  Miss  Leevy ;  she  kept,  as  far  as  possible,  the 
knowledge  of  this  petty  scandal  from  entering  the  parsonage. 
Indeed,  Mary's  ear  was  never  open  to  things  of  this  nature. 
She  luid  no  great  curiosity  to  know  what  was  said  of  her  affairs. 
One  instance,  however,  was  so  amusing,  that  Miss  Olivia  could 
not  forbear  reporting  it  to  Mr.  Vernon  himself. 

At  a  meeting  of  the  sewing  circle,  Miss  Lewis  and  Esther 
Ann  Brooks  were  observed  in  secret  conference,  as  on  some 
"  high  thought  intent."  After  a  while,  Esther  Ann  exchanged 
ominous  whispers  with  other  kindred  spirits,  from  whom  was 
heard  an  occasional  ejaculation,  —  "  You  don't  say  so ! "  or 
"  Do  tell ! "  —  with  many  stolen  glances  at  MrsT  Vernon.  The 
bull  was  rolling.  Not  many  days  passed,  ere  it  was  hinted 
aloud  that,  "  some  strange  doings  had  been  seen  at  the  parson 
age  "  A  little  more,  and  Mrs.  Buel  was  heard  to  say,  "  she 
wondered  what  it  was,  about  Mrs.  Vernon.  It  could  n't  be  she 
did  not  live  happily  with  her  husband.  There  was  some  mys 
tery  there.  The  person  who  had  put  her  on  the  alert,  said  she 
was  not  at  liberty  to  tell ;  but  she  '  should  think  Mr.  Vernon 
would  be  ashamed  of  his  wife.' "  Another  whisperer  affirmed 
her  purpose  not  to  enter  the  parsonage  through  the  kitchen- 
0 


98  THE   SHADY    SIDE;     OR, 

door ;  from  which  it  was  inferred,  that  the  trouble  had  to  do 
with  the  "  domestic."  And,  above  all  others,  came  the  remark 
of  Mrs.  Lewis,  that,  she  "  would  n't  have  thought  the  minis 
ter's  wife  was  such  a  child" 

What  could  all  this  mean  ? 

Miss  Leevy  took  it  upon  herself  to  ferret  out  and  hunt  down 
the  scandal ;  and,  pursuing  it  to  "the  death,"  it  was  found  to  be 
simply  this  :  —  Mrs.  Lewis'  dressmaker  went  over  to  the  par 
sonage  to  look  at  Mrs.  Vernon's  cloak.  Passing  in,  through 
the  kitchen  to  the  back-parlor,  she  surprised  the  young  wife 
sitting  cm,  the  carpet  playing  with  a  pet  kitten.  Mirabilo 
dictu ! 

For  a  more  particular  account  of  Mary's  relations  to  the 
people,  at  this  period  of  her  history,  we  must  refer  to  her  own 
pen. 

"  PARSONAGE,  SALEM,  Feb.  — ,  183-. 
"  MY  OWN  DEAR  PAPA,  — 

"  How  I  wish  I  might  exchange  pen  and  paper  for  a  seat  by 
your  side,  in  the  dear  library,  and  a  two-hours'  talk,  with  my 
hand  in  yours,  and  my  head  on  your  arm,  as  in  days  gone  by ! 
I  have  so  much  to  say,  that  the  very  thought  of  slipping  it  all 
off  the  point  of  my  pen,  is  a  weariness.  But,  I  ought  to  be 
thankful  for  even  this  resort,  and  would  not  waste  further 
words,  if  I  only  knew  where  to  begin. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  all  my  gratitude  for  your  good,  kind  let- 
ters.  The  last  was  just  what  I  needed;  —  the  advice  so  consid 
erate ;  the  sympathy  so  precious.  Even  the  commendation  was 
timely.  We  are  not  always  in  a  fit  mood  to  receive  the  latter 
safely  ;  yet,  at  that  time,  I  was  self-distrusting,  and  needed  a 
little  lifting  up.  And  I  feel  a  security  in  taking  praise  from 
your  lips,  dear  father,  that  I  never  do  from  others. 

"  In  your  hint  upon  the  wisdom  of  confiding  everything  to 
my  husband,  I  understand  all  you  would  say ;  and  my  practice,  I 
trust,  accords  with  it.  I  have  conferred  with  him  on  every  point 
I  liave  mentioned  to  you,  and  with  much  benefit.  But  then, 


LIFE    IX    A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  99 

dear  father,  he  has  not  the  advantage  of  your  experience,  or 
your  position  as  one  of  the  people  ;  and,  where  I  am  concerned, 
he  is,  I  fear,  too  lenient  and  partial. 

"  You  will  rejoice  to  know  that  I  am  getting  somewhat  into 
the  affection  and  confidence  of  our  people.  I  believe  some  of 
them,  at  first,  were  jealous  of  me,  for  Mr.  Vernon's  sake ;  at 
least,  I  give  them  credit  for  this  feeling,  and  it  makes  me  quite 
tolerant  of  their  criticisms.  One  woman  loves  her  minister  so 
well  she  is  afraid  he  has  not  so  good  a  wife  as  he  deserves. 
Another  fears  his  house  will  not  be  kept  with  the  nicest  regard 
to  his  comfort.  A  third  inspects  his  person,  with  careful  eye, 
and  thinks  it  '  too  bad'  if  his  linen  is  not  as  smooth  and  white 
as  it  used  to  be  under  the  hand  of  a  skilful  laundress.  A 
fourth  shakes  her  head,  as  she  sees  us  taking  a  ride  or  walk, 
and-  fears  that,  '  what  with  writing  sermons,  and  doing  parish 
duty,  a?ul  waiting  so  muck  upon  his  ivife,  he  '11  break  down 
before  long.'  But,  as  it  is  all  out  of  pure  love  to  their  minis 
ter,  how  can  I  complain  ?  Some  persons  take  the  liberty  to 
enlighten  me  on  the  subject  of  his  preferences  in  regard  to  table 
fare ;  and  so  many  favorite  dishes  have  been  named  that  I  am 
led  to  believe  he  must  have  a  most  accommodating  palate. 

"  There  are  some  strictures  passed,  however,  which  have  no 
reference  to  his  comfort.  When  brother  William  was  here,  he 
and  I  took  some  nice  sleigh-rides  together,  and  I  enjoyed  it 
much.  I  was  not  aware  of  indulging  an  excess  of  spirits ;  but 
some  young  ladies  were  quite  disturbed,  and  "reported  that  I 
was  very  gay,  and  that,  as  I  left  the  house,  equipped  for  a  ride, 
my  laugh  might  be  heard  across  the  street.  This  reminds  mo 
of  something  else,  of  a  very  different  nature,  that  troubles  me. 

"  Did  you  ever  think,  dear  papa,  that  I  have  an  unusually 
quick  perception  of  the  ludicrous  ?  I  never  met  so  much  to 
call  it  out  as  since  I  have  been  a  minister's  wife.  It  really 
gives  me  trouble  ;  —  sometimes  distresses  me  greatly. 

"Last  Sabbath  Edward  exchanged  with  Father  Smith,  a 
man  who  stoops  very  much,  though  not  from  age,  and  whose 


100  THE   SHADY    SIDE  J    OR, 

nasal  organ  is  very  prominent.  As  he  wished  to  go  home,  after 
the  third  service,  he  rode  his  horse  over  to  the  conference-room. 
He  was  moving  slowly  along,  half  bent,  and  I  was  walking,  at 
a  little  distance,  with  that  solemn-faced  Mr.  Fenton,  when  a 
pert  young  miss,  before  me,  said  to  her  companion,  quite 
gravely,  '  Mr.  Smith's  Twse  will  get  to  meeting  some  time 
before  he  does.'  I  laughed,  involuntarily,  and  looked  toward 
Mr.  F. ;  but  his  face  did  not  relent  in  the  least.  The  roguish 
girls,  however,  saw  that  my  gravity  was  disturbed,  and  they 
took  advantage  of  it  to  keep  up  their  sport, — looking  over  their 
shoulder,  occasionally,  at  me,  then  at  the  unconscious  subject 
of  their  mirth,  with  deprecating  glances  at  Mr.  Fenton,  who 
frowned  upon  them  with  his  sourest  visage.  I  don't  know  what 
he  thought  of  me. 

"  I  regretted  this  the  more,  as  only  a  few  days  pre 
viously  I  lost  my  self-possession  from  a  similar  cause.  It  was 
before  the  weekly  church  prayer-meeting.  Several  persons  had 
called,  and,  among  others,  a  poor  man,  in  failing  health,  who 
wished  to  ask  assistance  from  his  brethren.  He  had  a  sub 
scription  paper,  drawn  up  by  a  friend  of  more  literacy  preten 
sions  than  himself,  which  he  handed  to  Mr.  Vernon,  with  the 
request  that  he  would  present  it  to  the  church,  and  have  it  cir 
culated  after  meeting.  Edward  read  it,  and  passed  it  to  me. 
I  took  it  unsuspectingly,  though  I  thought  there  was  a  curious 
twinkle  in  his  eye.  It  was  a  singular  document.  I  began  to 
read,  but  coming  to  the  statement  that  the  applicant  had 
'  always  been  a  very  disenabled-bodied  man,'  I  could  get  no 
further.  Rising,  suddenly,  to  conceal  my  risibility,  I  met 
Edward's  eye  (was  he  not  wicked  ?),  and  failed  to  recover  my 
self-possession  till  I  had  attracted  the  notice  of  all  present, 
except  the  poor  man  himself,  who  sat  with  an  expression  of 
complacent  ruefulness,  of  itself  quite  ludicrous. 

"  Since  I  am  upon  this  topic,  I  may  as  well  tell  you  what 
happened  at  a  wedding,  not  long  ago,  though  you  will  think  me 
a  foolish  child;  and.  indeed,  I  am. 


LIFE   IN  .A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  101 

"  The  bridegroom  was  from  an  adjoining  town.  His  name 
was  Hart.  He  had  with  him  two  sisters,  a  brother,  and  a 
cousin,  of  the  same  name.  In  offering  the  invocation,  Edward 
prayed  for  a  'blessing  on  these  hearts'  [Harts],  which  struck 
me  so  ludicrously  that  I  lost  the  rest  of  the  prayer,  in  my 
remorseful  feelings,  at  this  intrusion  upon  the  spirit  of  devotion. 
I  cannot  think  of  it  without  self-reproaches ;  neither  can  I  with 
out  a  smile.  What  shall  I  do  ? 

"  This  letter  was  interrupted,  last  evening,  by  a  call  from 
Dr.  Alden.  He  came,  as  he  often  does,  to  hear  me  play  and 
sing ;  but  I  declined,  this  time,  for  fear  of  disturbing  Mr!  Ver- 
non,  who  is  very  busy,  this  week,  upon  his  sermon.  He  has 
taken  quite  an  impulse  in  his  studies,  since  New- Year's.  The 
doctor  alluded  to  it,  in  his  facetious  way.  The  congregation 
seems  unusually  attentive. 

"  It  is  time  this  long  letter  drew  to  a  conclusion.  Tell  sister 
Harriet  (with  our  best  regards)  we  see  no  prospect  of  being 
able  to  relinquish  Ann  at  present. 

"  What  a  cheerful  rain  we  have  had  to-day; — -not.  falling 
reluctantly,  but  in  a  succession  of  hearty  showers.  I  have 
been  just  in  the  mood  to  sympathize  with  it.  It  has  rained  so 
easily,  so  spontaneously,  so  freely,  —  as  if  it  could  n't  help  it, 
and  would  not,  if  it  could.  I  have  watched  the  showers,  and 
thought,  '  like  this  should  be  our  charities^  given  with  the  same 
spontaneity  and  gladness.' 

"  Edward  has  come  from  the  study,  and,  looking  over  my 
shoulder,  quite  disconcerts  me  with  the  exclamation,  '  Capi 
tal  illustration  that !  See  if  I  do  not  use  it  in  my  next  mis 
sionary  seriiKn.'  What  can  I  add,  after  this,  except  our 
united  love  « 

"  Affectionately  and  dutifully,  MABT  ' 

9* 


102  THE   SHADY    SIDE? -OB, 


CHAPTER  XV. 

'  They  joy  before  thee  according  to  the  joy  in  harvest." 

THE  winter  months  sped  rapidly  by,  and  the  opening  spring 
witnessed  an  unusual  sei'iousness  in  the  Sabbath  audiences  at 
Salem.  Soon  one  and  another  inquiring  soul  sought  the  pas 
tor's  "study,  for  religious  counsel  and  sympathy.  His  words 
dropped  as  the  rain,  and  his  speech  distilled  as  the  dew. 

The  merciful  visitation  of  the  previous  year  had  shaken  the 
whole  field,  and  gathered  many  souls  into  the  garner  of  Christ. 
This  was  as  the  gleanings  after  harvest.  The  subjects  were 
not  numerous,  but  scattered,  here  and  there,  over  the  whole 
parish.  Their  treatment,  too,  required  an  unusual  amount  of 
time  and  skill.  They  were  mostly  persons  who  had  been  long 
thoughtful  on  the  concerns  of  the  soul,  or  who  had,  at  a  former 
period  of  awakening,  voluntarily  suppressed  solicitude,  and 
banished  thought.  Frequent  personal  interviews  were  the 
principal  kind  of  labor  needed ;  but  some  prominent  individuals 
thought  there  should  be  an  extra  sermon  or  two  a  week,  in 
such  an  interesting  state  of  things.  To  meet  both,  made  large 
demands  upon  the  minister,  especially  as  he  had  now  his  own 
domestic  cares. 

At  the  close  of  the  first  week,  Mary  knew  he  had  not  had 
twenty-four  hours  to  bestow  upon  his  pulpit  preparation,  and 
she  asked  him,  anxiously,  what  he  could  do  for  the  morrow. 
He  replied,  cheerfully,  "  he  had  no  fear  but  what  he  could  preach 
to-morrow  ;  whether  he  could  sleep  to-night  was  doubtful." 

In  one  of  his  temperament  and  endowments,  intellectual 
activity  was  greatly  quickened  by  intense  emotion.  His  mind 
felt  the  kindling  glow,  and  grew  malleable  and  ductile  in  the 
•uperaided  heat  of  the  affections.  Hence  he  was  seldom 


LIFE   IN    A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  10? 

unequal  to  "  the  occasion,"  provided  it  touched  his  sensibilities. 
His  zeal,  unlike  that  which  runs  loose,  without  the  judgment, 
had  too  much  to  carry  to  lose  its  balance,  or  make  dangerous 
speed.  It  was  according  to  knowledge. 

The  readiness  with  which  he  preached  from  brief  notes,  after 
so  short  a  time. in  his  study,  surprised  Mary.  Not  only  was  he 
fluent  and  fervent,  but  logical  and  close  in  reasoning.  The 
fact  was,  —  alas  !  that  it  is  not  always  so,  —  he  preached  with  a 
definite  object  in  view ;  lie  knew  what  he  was  driving  at,  and 
aimed  every  blow  at  a  given  result.  Illustration,  argument, 
counsel,  entreaty,  all  concentrated  on  the  point  he  wished  to 
gain.  It  was  this,  too,  that  gave  such  a  freshness  and  charm 
to  every  neighborhood  meeting  for  conference  and  prayer.  The 
words  of  the  pastor  were  no  indefinite  commendation  of  godli 
ness,  or  vague  exhortation  to  repentance  and  faith.  They  were 
chosen  to  meet  some  specific  want.  There  was  some  objection 
to  be  silenced,  some  doubt  solved,  some  difficulty  to  be  removed, 
some  impression  deepened  in  the  minds  of  particular  inquirers 
for  the  way  of  life.  There  was  nourishment  of  the  right  kind 
to  be  judiciously  administered  to  new-born  souls.  There  was 
stimulus  needed  for  the  faith  and  prayers  of  fellow-laborers. 

Such  a  work  will  call  out  a  pastor,  and  develop  his  resources. 
Mr.  Vernon's  people  needed  not  this  new  demonstration  of  his 
power.  They  remembered  the  revival  scenes  of  the  previous 
twelve-month,  and  they  might  have  remembered  his  consequent 
exhaustion.  But  these  ministrations  were  so  edifying  there 
were  few  to  think  or  suggest  that  the  pastor  could  do  too 
much. 

The  good  deacon  ("  Was  there  only  one  deacon  in  Salem  ?  " 
some  may  ask.  Yes,  there  was  another ;  but  he  was  only  a 
left-hand  cipher]  —  the  good  deacon  feared  how  it  might  be  in 
the  end,  and  did  all  that  one  man  could  do  to  restrain,  advise, 
and  aid.  Giving  up  his  own  time  to  the  work,  he  also  took  it 
upon  him,  though  living  a  mile  distant,  to  look  a  little  after 
Mr.  Vernon's  secular  cares,  —  sending  "  one  of  the  boys,"  ooca- 


104  THE   SHADY    SIDE  J     OK, 

Hionally,  to  saw  his  wood,  and,  often,  to  cut  the  hay,  and  pre 
pare  the  mess  for  the  horse,  that  he  need  not  have  this  to  do, 
after  returning  late  from  a  distant  meeting.  No  wonder  Dr. 
Alden  told  Mr.  Vernon,  "  Deacon  Ely  was  the  breath  of  hia 
nostrils." 

There  are,  in  every  parish,  a  multitude  of  miscellaneous 
services,  which,  unless  there  are  self-sacrificing  laymen,  fall 
heavily  on  the  minister,  dividing  his  time,  and  consuming  hia 
strength.  To  spare  his  minister  these,  was  the  noble  purpose 
of  this  excellent  man.  Hence  he  bore  many  burdens  which 
should  have  been  equalized  among  the  brethren.  He  performed 
some  disagreeable  services  which  did  not  strictly  belong  to  him. 
No  one  else  would  do  them,  and  he  determined  they  should  not 
come  upon  the  young  pastor,  who  gave  himself  unsparingly  to 
his  proper  work.  "  Why  should  the  laborer  in  word  and  doc 
trine  turn  aside  to  serve  tables ;  to  be  a  door-keeper  of  the 
sanctuary  ;  to  warm,  and  light  and  ventilate,  the  room  for 
evening  prayer ;  to  see  that  provision  is  made  for  the  poor ;  to 
circulate  subscription  papers,  and  collect  charities ;  to  distribute 
missionary  periodicals ;  to  provide  for  the  temperance  agent  and 
his  horse;  to  notify  church  appointments,  and  do  such  like 
service,  whose  name  is  '  legion '  ?  While  he  lived,  he  would 
stand  as  much  as  possible  between  a  pastor  and  these."  Thus 
reasoned  Deacon  Ely,  and  thus  practised ;  but  it  was  as  a  coad 
jutor  in  rdigwus  duties  that  his  aid  was  invaluable. 

Was  there  a  case  of  open  scandal  or  of  alienation  among 
brethren,  —  Mr.  Vernon  generally  found  that  the  deacon  had 
gone  before  him,  as  a  reprover  or  a  peace-maker.  Were  there 
instances  of  neglect  of  covenant  duty,  —  he  needed  no  persuasion 
to  look  after  the  delinquents,  and  unite  his  influence  with  his 
pastor's  in  correcting  the  evil.  Were  there  young  disciples  to 
be  cajred  for, — he  watched  and  cherished  them,  as  a  nurse  her 
children,  looking  diligently,  lest  any  should  fail  of  the  grace  of 
God.  One  youthful  invalid,  when  visited  by  the  pastor,  showed 
him  a  note  she  had  received  from  Deacon  Ely,  in  which,  after 


LIFE   IN   A    COUNTUY    PARSONAGE.  105 

expressing  his  sympathy  in  her  affliction,  he  gives  her  what  ha 
calls  "  the  Christian  paradox," — "As  chastened,  and  not  killed ; 
cast  down,  but  not  destroyed  ;  as  sorrowful,  yet  always  rejoicing ; 
as  having  nothing,  and  yet  possessing  all  things,"  —  request 
ing  her  to  solve  the  riddle  at  her  leisure,  and  send  him  the 
answer.  The  young  minister's  eyes  glistened  as  he  read  tho 
note,  and  he  laid  it  down,  saying,  "  That  is  just  like  Deacon 
Ely."  He  always  felt  that  this  co-worker  with  him  in  the 
gospel,  had  his  eye  upon  the  field,  and  would  give  him  timely 
notice  of  any  case  that  needed  his  special  attention. 

Many  an  impulse,  too,  in  sermon-making,  did  Mr.  Vernon 
get  from  this  intelligent  student  of  the  Scriptures,  as  they 
compared  their  views  of  truth,  and  communed  upon  the  topics 
of  doctrine  or  practice,  presented  from  the  pulpit. 

"  I  never  hear  anything  from  my  sermons,"  said  one  minis 
ter,  sorrowfully.  Mr.  Vernon  felt  the  advantage  of  a  freo 
conference  with  a  thinking,  discriminating  hearer,  on  the  subject 
of  his  preaching. 

This  watchful  friend  saw,  too,  when  he  needed  rest ;  and,  as 
he  took  but  little  care  of  himself,  he  was  thus  cared  for,  and 
relaxation  often  urged  upon  him  before  he  was  quite  aware  of 
its  importance. 

During  this  precious  season  of  spiritual  refreshing,  their 
hearts  were  more  closely  knit  together.  Very  beautiful  were 
their  love  and  fellowship.  One  raw,  chilly  evening  in  the  last 
of  March,  the  deacon  stopped  at  the  parsonage  gate,  just  as  Mr. 
Vernon  was  leading  Pompey  from  the  stable,  for  a  ride  to  the 
most  remote  district. 

"  Put  up  the  colt,  if  you  please,"  said  he ;  "I  want  the 
privilege  of  leading  the  meeting  to-night.  You  were  very 
hoarse  last  evening,  and  this  is  n't  the  right  sort  of  air  to 
improve  a  cold." 

"  But,"  said  the  minister,  "  there  are  one  or  two  persons,  out 
there,  I  want  particularly  to  see." 

"  I  '11  take  <f  re  of  them,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  not  as  well  as 


106  THE   SHADY   SIDE;    OR, 

you  would,  perhaps ;  but  we  want  to  save  you  a  little  longer." 
So  Pompey  was  put  back,  rather  reluctantly,  into  the  stall ;  and 
Mary,  who  stood  in  the  portico,  and  heard  the  whole,  could  not 
forbear  saying,  "  0,  Deacon  Ely,  how  very  kind  arid  thoughtful 
you  are  !  The  Lord  will  Teward  you." 

Those  days  of  special  religious  interest  were  days  long  to  be 
remembered  by  her,  whose  whole  being  was  more  and  more 
identified  with  the  pastor  and  his  work.  To  the  success  and 
progress  of  that  work,  her  heart  became  more  tenderly  alive. 
An  increasing  sense  of  her  responsibility,  in  reference  to  the 
salvation  of  others,  pervaded  her  prayers  and  her  example.  As 
yet,  she  had  not  summoned  courage  to  speak  to  the  irreligious 
directly  on  the  subject  of  personal  duty.  Not  that  courage, 
was  exactly  what  she  lacked ;  —  she  was  so  humble  and  self- 
distrusting,  as  to  feel  that  it  would  be  assuming,  in  her,  to 
attempt  such  effort.  Many  a  young  person,  as  they  entered  to 
converse  with  their  pastor,  looked  wishfully  at  her,  as  if  hoping 
something  from  the  sympathy  visible  in  her  face.  Yet  she 
could  not  utter  a  word.  She  spoke  sadly  of  this  to  Edward, 
asking  him  what  was  duty ;  but  he  told  her  she  must  follow 
the  impulses  of  her  own  heart,  unconstrained ;  he  could  not 
prescribe  what  would  be  right  for  her.  Even  her  dear  pet  and 
pupil,  Carrie  Wood,  came  day  after  day  to  her  music  lesson, 
with  a  deep  shade  over  her  bright,  sunny  face ;  and  though 
Mary  looked  at  her  anxiously,  till  her  own  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  her  tongue  seemed  fettered  when  she  would  speak  a  word 
of  Christian  counsel.  But  this  could  not  last. 

One  afternoon  Carrie  came  as  usual ;  but  the  first  strain  of 
music  brought  a  gush  of  tears,  and  she  silently  took  her  bonnet 
and  hurried  back  to  her  home  across  the  street.  Mary  was 
greatly  distressed.  She  prayed  for  grace  to  overcome  her 
weakness  ;  then,  seizing  her  pen,  wrote  : 

"  Dear,  dear  Carrie !  come  back  and  tell  me  all.  Come 
without  delay." 

Ann  carried  the  note,  and,  ere  five  minutes  elapsed,  the 


LIFE   IN    A  COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  107 

broken-hearted  child  was  on  the  carpet,  with  her  face  buried  in 
Mary's  lap,  sobbing  as  only  a  child  can  weep.  Mary's  arm 
\vas  around  her,  and  her  tears  dropped  on  the  young  girl's 
auburn  hair. 

But  a  calmer  interval  succeeded ;  and  Carrie  told  how  a 
feeling  of  ill-desert  had  pierced  her  heart  these  many  days ; 
and  she  could  not  talk  with  her  father,  as  he  did  not  question 
her ;  and  she  felt  afraid  to  come  to  Mr.  Vernon ;  and  mama 
was  suffering  with  a  fit  of  nervous  headache,  and  could  not  be 
troubled. 

"  0  ! "  said  Mary,  "  I  have  done  very,  very  wrong  not  to  ask 
you  to  open  your  heart  to  me  before.  Yet,"  she  added,  ear 
nestly,  "  it  is  but  little  /  can  do  for  you.  Jesus  can  help  you, 
Carrie ;  he  is  willing,  and  waiting  to  receive  you,  —  more  wil 
ling  than  you  are  to  go  to  him." 

"  0,  no  !  "  said  the  humbled  child  ;  "  not  more  willing  than 
/,  if  I  could  only  find  him.  0,  if  I  knew  what  to  do  !  " 

"  What  does  he  want  of  you,  my  child,  but  that  you  should 
give  him  your  heart,  and  let  him  save  you  ?  " 

"  But  I  must  do  something  myself." 

"  And  what  have  you  been  trying  to  do  ?  —  to  make  yourself 
better  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  tried  and  tried,  and  I  only  grow  worse." 

"  This  is  not  what  he  wants  of  you,  child.  You  have  been 
trying  to  do  his  part  of  the  work.  You  feel  that  you  are  a 
great  sinner,  dear  Carrie  ?  " 

"  0,  yes  !  " 

11  This  grieves  you,  and  you  desire  to  be  forgiven,  and  be 
made  holy  ?  " 

"  0,  very  much  !  " 

"  And  you  believe  Jesus  is  able  tnd  willing  to  do  this  for 
you  ?  Now,  what  have  you  to  do,  b.it  to  trust  him  for  it  ? 
This  is  all  you  can  do  —  it  is  enough  Trust  him  with  jout 
heart,  just  as  it  is,  to  make  it  what  he  would  have  it." 

Carrie  was  silent. 


108  THE   SHADY    SIDE  J    OR, 

\ 

"  Since  he  has  shown  his  love  in  dying  for  you,  —  since  ha 
offers  to  forgive  you  freely,  —  cannot  you  commit  your  heart  to 
him,  and  confide  in  him  to  do  all  that  is  needful  for  its  salva 
tion  ?  " 

The  young  girl  looked  up  with  a  beam  of  hope.  "  And  may 
I  trust  him  tuno  ?  Will  he  love  me  as  I  am  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  my  darling  ;  every  moment's  delay  grieves  him 
But  you  must  venture  upon  his  promise  and  his  grace  with 
your  whole  heart.  There  must  be  no  mistrust,  no  doubt,  no 
reserve.  He  is  able  to  save  to  the  uttermost ;  he  makes  you 
the  offer ;  he  waits  for  you  to  accept  it." 

"  0,  how  kind  !  I  don't  deserve  this  ;  but  I  will  accept  it. 
I  will  trust  him.  How  can  I  help  it,  it  seems  so  easy  now  ? 
"Why  did  I  not  see  this  before  ?  " 

Again  the  two  wept  together ;  but  they  were  tears  of  deli 
cious  joy,  intermingled  with  smiles.  And  then,  kneeling 
together,  with  Carrie's  hand  in  hers,  Mary  offered  a  simple, 
earnest  prayer  of  consecration  to  Christ ;  magnifying  the  riches 
of  his  grace,  and  beseeching  strength  to  lead  a  holy  life.  The 
scene  was  one  a  painter  might  have  coveted.  It  had  a  holier 
use,  joyed  over  by  angels. 

"  Now,"  said  Mary,  "  let  us  go  to  the  study  and  see  Mr. 
Vernon."  But  when  they  actually  stood  before  him,  she  burst 
into  tears,  and  could  not  speak.  Carrie  had  to  tell  her  own 
story,  which  she  did  with  a  self-possession  that  surprised  him, 
while  her  face  was  radiant  with  the  peace  and  hope  of  a  believ 
ing  spirit. 

This  incident  was  an  eventful  one  to  Mary.  It  lessened  her 
timidity,  and  broke  in  upon  her  plea  that  she  should  do  more 
harm  than  good,  by  attempting  to  direct  inquiring  souls.  It 
stirred  deeper  in  her  heart  the  fountains  of  Christian  feeling, 
and  sent  her  to  the  praying  circle  with  a  soul  raised  above  the 
fear  of  fellow-worms.  It  gave  a  new  unction  to  her  appeals 
in  her  Sabbath-school  class;  and,  before  the  season  closed,  she 
had  the  joy  of  seeing  many  of  them  converted  to  God  ;  a  joy 


LIFE    IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  109 

deepened  by  the  fact  that  more  than  one  traced  their  special 
seriousness  to  her  faithful  application  of  Bible  truth.  0, 
what  satisfaction  is  superior  to  that  of  winning  souls  to  tho 
ways  of  heavenly  wisdom  !  "  They  that  turn  many  to  right 
eousness,  shall  shine  as  the  stars  for  ever  and  ever." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  A  chosen  vessel  to  bear  iny  name  among  tho  Gentiles." 

"  My  reward  is  with  me  to  give  to  every  man  as  his  work  shall  be.  " 

APRIL,  with  its  suns  and  showers,  apt  emblem  of  life's  chang 
ing  day,  brought  to  the  Allison  family  the  long-anticipated 
departure  of  the  son  and  brother  to  his  missionary  work.  Fain 
would  the  father,  who  was  thus  sparing  from  underneath  him 
his  chief  earthly  prop,  —  fain  would  the  sister,  whose  heart  had 
grown  from  infancy  to  him  the  only  son  of  her  lost  mother, — 
gladly  would  all  the  household  band  have  indulged  their  part 
ing  tears,  and  sighed  their  last  adieus,  unobserved,  around  tho 
old  hearth-stone.  But  the  event  about  to  separate  them  was 
in  some  sense  a  pullic  one.  William  was  to  go  forth  as  a 
servant  of  the  Church,  and  the  Church  had  for  him  her  commis 
sion,  and  her  parting  counsels  and  prayers. 

There  was,  moreover,  another  deeply-interested  family  circle, 
who  were  to  welcome  him  into  their  group,  only  to  extend  tho 
parting  hand  as  he  should  bear  away  their  best-beloved  to  an 
almost  returnless  distance. 

"  Surely,"  said  the  doctor,  "  it  is  not  an  occasion  that  leaves 
us  to  the  luxury  of  secret  grief!  " 

So  he  kept  down  his  swelling  heart,  and  went  with  Edward 
and  Mary  to  the  Eastern  City,  where  many  gathered  to  wit 
ness  the  young  missionary's  marriage  and  ordination,  and  l<juve« 
taking. 

There  was  a  murmur  of  disappointment  in  the  gathered  audi- 
10 


110  THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OR, 

enco,  when,  as  the  hour  of  service  arrived,  and  the  parties 
entered  the  church,  it  was  whispered  that  the  marriage  cere 
mony  had  just  been  performed  at  the  house  ofj;he  bride.  Her 
mother  claimed  this  as  her  duCj  saying,  very  justly,  "  Though 
Emily  has  given  herself  to  the  cause  of  missions,  and  belongs 
in  some  sense  to  the  Christian  public,  she  is  still  our  child, 
and  we  must  have  the  marriage-altar  erected  at  our  own 
fireside." 

There  was,  however,  little  need  of  this  preliminary  service, 
to  add  interest  to  the  occasion.  The  "  consecration,"  the 
"  charge,"  the  "  fellowship,"  the  parting  counsels  and  benedic 
tions,  came  from  lips  that  seemed  touched  with  a  coal  from  the 
heavenly  altar. 

Some  of  the  spectators  watched  with  curious  eye  the  chang 
ing  expression  of  the  youthful  pair,  while  thus  set  apart  to  a 
sacred  work.  Others  looked  at  them,  and  marvelled  at  the 
strength  of  that  compassion  for  benighted  souls,  which  could 
lead  to  the  voluntary  severance  of  the  tics  that  bind  to  home 
and  friends  and  native  land.  Others,  still,  —  and  among  them 
more  than  one  careworn  country  pastor's  wife,  —  shed  tears  of 
sympathy,  and  in  their  humility  took  a  low  place  before  these 
devoted  servants  of  Christ,  who  were  forsaking  all  things  for 
his  kingdom's  sake.  To  these,  the  young  missionary  might 
have  responded,  "  Weep  not  for  me,  but  weep  for  yourselves 
and  your  children."  He  had  only  given  himself  to  the  service 
of  his  Lord.  What  had  he  done  more  than  they  ?  They  were 
toiling  obscurely  on,  wearing  put  by  trials  locked  up  in  their 
own  bosoms ;  he  was  starting  for  the  field,  mid  the  sound  of 
the  trumpet  and  the  loud  acclaim  of  many  a  banded  host  of 
God's  elect.  A  far-off  field,  truly  ;  yet,  for  that  reason,  more 
conspicuous,  where  his  prowess  would  be  noted  from  the  watch- 
towers  of  Zion,  and  heralded  to  a  multitude  of  sympathizing 
hearts.  But  what  need  of  this  comparison  ?  The  record  of 
all  God's  servants  is  on  high,  and  their  reward  is  sure. 

We  stop  not  over  the  embarkation  scene.     After  the  fare- 


LIFE   IN   A   COUNTRY  PARSONAGE.  11] 

well  hymn  was  sung,  and  the  last  adieus  spoken,  and  the  silent 
embrace  taken,  and  the  vision  strained  to  catch  the  last  faint 
outline  of  receding  forms,  and  waving  handkerchiefs,  Dr.  Alli 
son  folded  his  daughter  to  his  heart,  and  Mary  returned  to  her 
happy  home  with  a  feeling  almost  of  self-repro-ich,  at  the  thought 
of  her  privileged  allotment.  In  blessed  ignorance  of  the  future, 
she  wrote  lo  her  father  : 

"  My  haart  covets  for  dear  William  a  home  like  mine,  in  our 
own  beautiful  New  England,  mid  the  circle  of  our  kindred ;  in 
a  quiet  village  parsonage,  with  a  church  to  be  his  co-workers 
in  the  gospel,  and  a  christianized  congregation  looking  up  to 
him  with  esteem  and  affection ;  surrounded  by  all  the  nameless 
desirable  influences  that  attend  the  ministration  of  the  word  m 
our  well-ordered  communities.  True,  we  have  some  trials  even 
here,  but  they  seem  to  me  light  compared  with  his  on  mission 
ary  ground.  It  seems  almost  selfish  in  me  to  be  so  happy, 
when  I  think  of  his  lot." 

Ah,  tender-hearted  sister  !  thou  foreseest  not  the  time  when 
his  heart  shall  yearn  toward  thee,  across  the  blue  waters,  with 
unspeakable  pity,  and  a  juster  commiseration. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"  'T  is  over  soon  the  cause,  not  soon 
The  sad  effects  pass  by." 

"  No  matter  where  the  storm  has  driven, 
A  saving  anchor  lives  in  prayer." 

THE  summer  months  found  Mr.  Vernon  again  in  a  state  of 
physical  prostration  and  mental  depression.  The  early  sum 
mer  brought  him  a  visit  from  his  old  chum,  Frederick  Morton, 
who  was  glad  to  take  up  hu  abode  for  two  or  three  weeks  at 
the  parsonage,  and  pursue  his  acquaintance  with  our  young 
friend,  Bessie  Grampton. 


112  THE    SHAD7    SIDE;     OE, 

Morton's  visit  was  not  productive  of  good  to  his  classmate. 
He  was  a  man  of  fine  social  qualities,  —  a  man  of  talent  and 
ambition,  —  recently  admitted  to  the  bar.  A  professor  of  god 
liness,  withal ;  but  his  piety,  if  genuine,  had  never  gone,  with 
its  melting  power,  to  the  depths  of  his  nature,  firing  and  fusing 
the  soul,  and  working  an  amalgamation  conformable  to  that 
apostolic  model,  "  I  count  all  things  but  loss  for  the  excellency 
of  the  knowledge  of  Christ  Jesus,  our  Lord." 

His  friend's  change  of  profession  had  always  vexed  him. 
Now  that  he  saw  his  unwearied  efforts  for  the  prosperity  of  his 
people,  —  and  saw,  too,  that  these  efforts  were  often  at  the  expense 
of  his  own  mental  culture  and  finish  of  style  and  execution,  — 
he  vented  his  sentiments  in  a  way  that  did  more  mischief  than 
he  imagined. 

It  was  at  the  close  of  the  Sabbath,  when  Edward  was  in 
wardly  chafing  with  the  thought  that  his  sermon  had  fallen  far 
below  his  design,  that  Morton  said,  abruptly : 

"  What  a  fool  you  are,  Vernon,  —  pardon  me,  —  to  waste  so 
much  time  in  running  after  your  people !  You  had  a  splendid 
sermon  there,  in  conception,  but  you  gave  yourself  no  time  to 
elaborate  it.  Why,  my  dear  fellow,  the  materials  you  had  in 
that  discourse,  wrought  up  as  you  are  capable  of  doing  it,  would 
electrify  the  most  cultivated  audience  in  our  land.  You  are 
doing  everything  for  the  people,  and  too  little  for  yourself." 

Edward's  face  flushed,  and  a  bitter  smile  played  on  his  lip. 
(Had  not  his  own  heart  been  saying  the  same  thing,  though  it 
durst  not  frame  it  in  words  ?)  He  made  no  reply,  and  Mor 
ton  continued  :  "  I  see  how  it  is.  You  lay  down  your  book, 
or  your  pen,  and  start  off  to  every  sick  child  or  whimpering 
woman  that  takes  a  fancy  to  see  the  minister.  I  would  n't  do 
it.  I  would  cultivate  myself  for  a  higher  field.  The  people 
here  don't  appreciate  such  a  thinker  and  writer  as  you  are." 

Already,  at  the  thought  of  the  sick  "and  tempted  to  whom 
he  had  the  past  week  been  a  messenger  of  comfort  and  succor, 
Edward's  bitter  feelings  gave  place  to  gentkr  emotions,  and 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  113 

remorse  smote  his  heart.  He  ga/e  Morton  a  sad,  earnest  look, 
as  if  in  doubt  whether  explanation  were  not  labor  lost  on  a  man 
of  so  little  Christian  sensibility.  Mary  entered  soon,  and  tho 
topic  wa$  not  pursued.  Morton  evaded  it  during  the  few  days 
that  remained  of  his  visit.  Perhaps  he  liked  not  to  encounter 
another  such  glance  of  Vernon's  eye  ;  but  his  words  had  sunk 
deep  in  a  sensitive  nature,  and  they  rankled  there.  Their 
author  was  littla  aware  of  the  evil  he  had  done,  not  by  these 
bold  words  merely,  but  by  the  whole  tone  of  his  intercourse, 
during  that  fortnight's  visit. 

It  was.  he  said,  a  delightful  visit.  He  was  charmed  with 
the  rural  quiet  of  the  place.  lie  was  charmed  with  the  young 
mistress  of  the  dwelling.  He  was  in  a  mood  to  be  pleased  with 
everything;  for  he  had  obtained  a  promise  from  a  frank,  im 
pulsive  girl,  which  made  him  very  happy.  In  this  genial  mood 
he  wrote  to  one  of  the  old  college  clique : 

"  You  ask  me  to  describe  to  you  our  class-mate's  '  bright  par 
ticular  star.'  You  would  have  made  as  modest  a  request,  had 
you  asked  me  for  a  bottle  of  this  delicious  sunshine,  as  I  watch 
't  from  my  window,  falling  over  the  forest  of  endlessly  varied 
green,  and  sparkling  in  the  spray  of  the  mill-dam  !  You  must 
sec  Edward  Vernon's  wife,  to  get  a  portrait  of  her  before  your 
mind.  But,  to  allay  your  curiosity,  I  will  try  my  hand  at 
description.  I  should  say,  she  is  sufficiently  tall,  and  rather 
slight  in  figure  ;  of  a  delicate  conformation,  or  cast  of  mind  and 
body  ;  an  ardent,  susceptible  nature,  tempered  with  unusual  gen 
tleness  ;  sterling  sense,  set  off  by  a  quiet  humor,  with  some  arch 
ness,  and  a  nice  regard  for  the  feelings  of  others.  Pshaw  !  how 
tame  !  I  give  it  up.  This  kind  of  description,  you  know,  is  not 
my  forte.  The  simplest  rogue  might  run  at  large  for  all  my 
posting. 

"  But  Vernon  is  a  lucky  fellow.    His  Mary  is  just  the  Mary  for 

him.     She  has  a  certain  childish  playfulness  and  grace  mingled 

with  sweet  seriousness  and  womanly  dignity.    She  captivates  his 

fancy,  and  he  reposes  his  whole  soul  on  her  affection  and  judgment 

10* 


114  THE   SHADY    SIDE;     OR, 

"  Lest  you  should  think  I  covet  this  rare  gem,  I  may  as  wel. 
inform  you  that  there  is  in  the  same  neighborhood  a  pair  of 
darker,  more  brilliant  eyes,  —  ay,  laughing  eyes  they  are,  — 
with  carnation  lips  and  cheeks  to  match,  which,  if  fyey  were 
tnine,  1  would  not  exchange  for  any  I  have  seen ;  and  which 
may,  one  day,  who  knows  ?  '  Verlum  sat.''  "... 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  Christian  minister  strove  against 
the  latent  workings  of  worldly  ambition.  What  renewed  heart 
does  not  take  the  alarm  at  the  approach  of  moral  evil  in  a  pal 
pable  shape  ?  Yet  his  resistance  was  too  weak  and  intermitted. 
He  was  in  ill  health,  and  in  poorer  spirits.  Satan  made  the 
most  of  these  facilities  to  harass  and  ensnare  him.  Morton  had 
spoken  of  one  and  another  of  their  class  who  bade  fair  to  rise 
to  eminence  in  the  legal  profession ;  and,  as  the  tempted  man 
thought  thereon,  the  suggestion  would  come  to  his  mind,  "  This 
is  what  was  expected  of  you.  Instead  of  this,  you  are  only  an 
Ordinary  parish  minister,  and  dwindling  even  here."  But  the 
wickedness  of  the  suggestion  always  distressed  him  more  than 
the  fact  involved  in  it. 

It  required  all  Mary's  philosophy  and  affection  to  keep  sun 
shine  in  her  heart  and  in  her  house ;  yet  she  succeeded,  and 
was  well  repaid.  It  was  a  discipline  of  self-control  and  of 
compulsion  to  the  only  sure  refuge  and  support,  which  she 
needed  to  learn  early,  and  which  was  never  forgotten. 

In  days  of  spiritual  prosperity,  Edward  had  asked  Mary  to 
lead  their  united  devotions  at  the  mercy-seat ;  but  she  had 
always  declined.  She  felt  no  freedom  for  such  a  service  with 
him.  She  thought  it  almost  impracticable.  But  now,  in  these 
days  of  gloom,  when  he  was  troubled  oil  every  side,  and  the 
billows  of  temptation  were  surging  over  him  ;  now,  when  he 
asked  her,  with  child-like  entreaty,  if  she  could  not  pray,  she 
assented  willingly.  But  not  there  at  his  wonted  place.  She 
drew  him  instinctively  to  her  own  room,  and  bowed  the  knee 
with  him  at  her  own  place  of  communion  with  Heaven.  And 
such  prayer  he  had  seldom  heard.  He  rose  humbled,  rebuked. 


LIFE   IN    A  COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  115 

comforted.  It  was  as  if  an  angel  from  heaven  strengthened 
him. 

The  summer  dragged  wearily  away.  Those  were  sad  days  ; 
and  yet,  in  passing,  they  seemed  not  so  dark  to  Mary,  as  when 
she  looked  back  upon  them  in  the  sunlight  of  restored  serenity 
and  joy. 

And  what,  meantime,  became  of  the  parish  ?  The  pastor  had 
never  deserted  it.  He  attended  the  sick  ;  he  buried  the  dead  • 
he  wrote  an  occasional  sermon ;  exchanged  pulpits  with  his 
brethren ;  repeated,  now  and  then,  an  old  sermon,  and  extem 
porized  new  ones  when  he  could  not  avoid  it.  The  people 
petted  him  in  his  moods  ;  inquired  often  and  tenderly  after  him  ; 
taid  he  had  worked  too  hard ;  shook  their  heads  ominously,  and 
feared  he  would  die  young. 

Deacon  Ely  thought  he  understood  the  case.  "  Was  not 
this  the  natural  reaction  of  over-exertion  in  one  of  so  excitable 
a  temperament  and  delicate  constitution  ?  The  spiritual  con 
flicts  —  were  they  not  a  part  of  God's  gracious  plan  to  deepen 
the  foundations  of  piety,  and  prepare  his  servant,  by  a  richer 
personal  experience,  for  stil]  more  abundant  success  in  his  holy 
calling  ?  "  "  Ah  !  "  sighed  the  desponding  man,  "  he  judges 
more  favorably  of  me  than  I  deserve.  If  he  could  look  into 
my  heart,  I  fear  he  would  not  wish  to  hear  me  preach  again." 

In  the  midst  of  this  season  of  darkness  came  sorrowful 
tidings  from  the  home  of  his  childhood.  He  was  suddenly  sent 
for  to  see  his  mother  die.  Mary  could  not  accompany  him  ; 
so,  while  hastening  his  departure,  she  despatched  a  messenger 
for  Miss  Olivia's  company  during  his  absence.  Leevy  was 
greatly  shocked  and  alarmed.  "  0,  uncle  !  "  said  she,  "  what 
will  become  of  Mr.  Vernon  now  ?  lie  had  as  much  as  he  could 
bear  before."  "  He  will  rise  above  it,"  said  Deacon  Ely ;  '  the 
Lord  knows  how  to  deal  with  him  ;"  and  the  deacon's  phiiooo- 
phy  was  sound.  One  real  calamity  scatters  a  host  of  fancied 
sorrows  to'  the  wind.  One  heavy  grief  absorbs  the  sens*  «f 


116  THE   SHADY   SIDE;    OR, 

many  lighter  sorrows.  God  stays  his  rough  wind  in  the  day 
of  his  east  wind. 

Mr.  Vernon  came  home  from  his  mother's  grave  an  altered 
and  a  better  man.  His  old  despondency  was  displaced  by  a 
sweetly  sad  and  tender  filial  regret.  He  had  humbled  himself 
under  the  hand  of  his  chastening  God.  Earthly  aspirations 
sank  into  their  proper  insignificance  before  the  eternal  weight 
of  glory,  the  inheritance,  upon  which  his  sainted  mother  had 
entered.  That  glory  and  reward,  lately  seen  so  far  off,  seemed 
to  approach  nearer,  in  condescension  to  the  weakness  of  his 
struggling  faith.  He  strengthened  his  grasp  on  eternal  reali 
ties,  felt  afresh  the  value  of  the  soul,  and  laid  himself  anew  at 
the  foot  of  the  Cross.  In  the  soft  flow  of  gentle  tears,  with 
which  he  met  Mary  on  his  return,  was  the  promise  of  returning 
health  and  freshness  to  his  soul. 

"  Precious  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord  is  the  death  of  his 
saints."  As  this  text  was  named,  the  next  Sabbath  morning, 
an  unwonted  stillness  pervaded  the  full  assembly.  Sympathy 
with  the  preacher  riveted  the  attention  of  many  an  indifferent 
hearer,  while  his  sympathy  with  his  theme  carried  the  truth 
with  power  to  the  heart.  0,  ye,  who  expound  the  oracles  of 
God !  if  you  would  make  the  word  quick  and  powerful,  bring 
it  forth  not  only  fresh  from  your  own  mental  laboratory,  but 
glaunng  from  a  close  contact  with  your  own  heart.  "  1 
believed,  and  therefore  have  I  spoken." 


UFE   IN    A  COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  117 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

M  The  promise  is  unto  you  and  to  your  children. " 

"  A  silent  awe  is  in  my  room,  — 

I  tremble  with  delicious  fear; 
The  future,  with  its  light  and  gloom, 
Time  and  eternity  are  here.'.' 

WHEN  autumn,  in  her  gayest  robes,  once  more  dressed  the 
earth,  and  the  cricket's  chirp  began  to  break  the  stillness  of  the 
cool  October  evenings,  there  woke  within  the  parsonage  walls  a 
new  human  life;  and  with  it  oped  a  new  fount  of  love,  pure 
and  perennial,  in  two  glad  hearts. 

Upon  this  infant  daughter,  Edward  bestowed  the  name  of  hia 
sainted  mother  and  sister.  The  tiny  babe  lay  in  its  nurse's 
arms,  and  opened  its  large  blue  eyes  dreamily,  all  unconscious  of 
the  interest  it  excited,  and  the  attention  it  received,  as  an  inte 
gral  part  of  the  pastor's  family,  and  thus,  in  a  sense,  the  com 
mon  property  of  the  parish. 

Many  were  the  curious  eyes  that  peered  into  the  nursery  to 
see  the  minister's  baby.  The  little  stranger  could  hardly  take 
a  long  sleep,  undisturbed  ;  for  every  visitor  that  called,  —  who, 
by  the  way,  was  careful  to  say  she  should  n't  think  it  best  for 
many  to  cgme  in,  but  she,  feeling  particularly  interested,  could 
not  delay,  —  every  visitor  must  see  the  child  in  a  good  light, 
and  with  its  eyes  open,  that  there  might  be  no  doubt  whether 
their  color  was  blue  or  hazel,  and  that  every  feature  might  be 
properly  examined,  and  resemblances  traced  and  settled.  What 
a  pity  that  the  baby  face  would  develop  so  contrary  to  first 
judgments,  —  that,  what  was  settled  this  week,  must  be  reversed 
the  next ! 


118  TIIK  SHADY  SIDE;    OR, 

As  the  young  mother  pressed  this  new  treasure  to  her  bosom, 
it  was  not  without  a  feeling  of  awe  at  the  magnitude  of  the 
responsibility  involved  in  the  nurture  of  an  immortal  soul. 
She  almost  marvelled  that  so  sacred  a  trust  should  be  commit 
ted  so  generally  to  parents  insensible  of  its  solemnity  and  great 
ness.  Once  and  again  was  this  little  one  borne,  on  the  arms  of 
faith,  to  the  throne  of  a  covenant  God,  and  acknowledged  as  a 
lent  treasure  to  be  improved  for  his  glory.  As  the  time  drew 
near  for  its  public  dedication  to  him,  Mary  wrote  feelingly  to 
her  father : 

"  It  seems  strange  to  me  that  I  have  been  content  to  hold  sc 
vaguely  the  doctrine  of  '  infant  baptism,'  which  occupies  so 
prominent  a  place  in  our  creed.  Since  I  have  looked  at  the 
ordinance,  in  relation  to  my  own  child,  I  feel  that  it  must  have 
a  deeper  meaning  and  minuter  relations  than  my  superficial 
views  have  ever  grasped. 

"  I  have  conversed  with  several  clergymen  ;  but  all  their  acu 
men  seems  to  have  been  expended  on  the  question  of  its  obligation 
and  validity,  rather  than  on  its  inherent  nature  and  efficacy. 
Even  Edward  confesses  that  his  investigations  have  been  more 
occupied  with  the  divine  appointment  of  the  ordinance,  and  its 
propriety,  than  in  studying  the  philosophy  of  its  theory,  or  tho 
law  of  its  influence.  I  could  get  very  satisfactory  views  of  the 
subject  from  the  Bible  and  my  own  Christian  instincts ;  but, 
looking  around  on  the  families  of  the  church,  I  am  again  thrown 
into  perplexity. 

"  Do  write  me,  dear  father,  soon,  and  freely.  You,  I  am 
sure,  must  have  thought  deeply  on  the  matter,  and  settled  it  to 
your  own  satisfaction." 

In  reply,  Dr.  Allison  says  : 

"  I  do  not  know,  my  daughter,  as  it  is  best  for  me  to  say 
much  to  you  on  this  topic,  in  respect  to  which  I  was  once  in  a 
sea  of  trouble  and  mist.  My  views  are  somewhat  peculiar, 
and  your  good  husband  may  not  think  me  exactly  orthodox.  It 
seems  to  me  that  a  large  proportion  of  believers  in  our  connec- 


LlFfi   IN    A    COUNTBY    PARSONAGE.  119 

tion,  while  retaining  the  form,  have  let  slip  the  most  precioua 
and  vital  elements  of  its  spirit. 

"  Your  little  one,  whose  animal  life  is  so  lately  separated 
from  your  own,  is  still,  in  its  spiritual  life,  a  part  of  yourselves  ; 
it  has  yet  no  accountability,  no  individuality.  Its  soul  is  linked 
with  yours.  Why  should  it  not  be  included  with  you  in  the 
fold  of  the  good  Shepherd?  You  are,  under  God,  to  mould 
and  stamp  it  after  your  own  renewed  image.  Hence,  you  put 
upon  it  the  outward  seal,  —  the  washing  of  water,  —  to  sym 
bolize  the  fact  of  its  expected  transformation  into  the  likeness 
of  Christ,  —  its  prospective  regeneration  by  the  Holy  Ghost. 
You  have  a  right  to  presume  on  its  being  a  child  of  God,  soon 
after  it  can  discern  between  good  and  evil.  This  ordinance  is 
to  contribute  to  this  result  by  your  own  faith,  —  not  in  anj 
mystic  virtue  in  it,  but  faith  in  God's  plan  to  include  in  his 
covenant  the  children  of  his  people.  But  let  not  your  faith 
waver,  or  your  purpose  falter.  As  you  bring  your  darling  to 
its  public  consecration,  let  the  language  of  your  hearts,  speaking 
in  the  ordinance,  be,  —  '  This  unconscious  child  is  a  part  of  our 
selves  ;  we  purpose  it  shall  be  the  Lord's ;  we  will  nurture  it 
in  a  holy  atmosphere,  and  trust  the  divine  grace  to  bless  our 
endeavors  and  renew  it  unto  holiness,  that  it  may  grow  up  u 
child  of  God,  in  the  family  of  Christ.  Presuming  on  this  re 
sult,  we  dare  label  it  now  as  the  Lord's ;  a  partaker  with  us  of 
the  faith  and  promises  of  the  Gospel.' 

"  And,  remember,  Mary,  this  step  throws  upon  you  the  duty 
of  watching  the  growth  of  the  child's  moral  being,  as  you  would 
daily  watch  your  mon  heart  and  life;  to  secure,  by  God's  help, 
penitence  toward  him,  for  its  first  voluntary  acts  of  disobe 
dience,  trust  in  him  for  all  needed  mercy,  and  love  to  him 
for  what  he  is,  and  what  he  bestows.  To  do  this,  requires 
more  patient  watchfulness,  and  a  more  careful  ordering  of  their 
own  temper  and  conduct,  than  many  believing  parents  are  will 
ing  to  be  troubled  with.  The  consequence  is,  that  the  precious 
lauibe  of  the  flock,  —  instead  of  being  tenderly  nurtured  under 


120  THE   SHADY   SIDE;     OR, 

the  ample  provisions  of  the  covenant,  —  are  let  loose  from  the 
fold,  to  take  their  chance  with  others  on  the  unsheltered  com 
mon.  There  are  exceptions,  of  course,  to  this  fate ;  and  amon^ 
them,  I  trust,  will  be  our  darling;.  It  is  your  privilege,  my 
daughter,  to  lead  her  by  your  side  in  the  paths  of  the  good 
Shepherd. 

"  I  little  thought,  when  I  began,  of  saying  all  this.  There 
is  another  point,  too,  upon  which  I  would  like  to  talk  with  Mr. 
Vernon ;  that  is,  what  relation  has  the  church  to  the  baptized 
children  of  her  members,  and  what  duties?  Her  general  prac 
tice  says,  'none ;'  —  but  is  it  so  ?  The  Lord  lead  you  into  al] 
truth,  and  multiply  his  blessings  upon  you  twain,  and  upon 
your  offspring." 

It  was  in  the  spirit  of  such  views  of  parental  obligation,  that 
little  Abby  Vernon  was  carried  to  the  Lord's  house,  and  bap 
tized  into  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  the  Son,  and  the  Holy 
Ghost, 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  A  rose  nipp'd  in  the  bud." 

Or  all  who  "  affectioned"  the  blue-eyed  baby  of  the  parsonage 
none,  beyond  its  kindred,  loved  it  so  tenderly,  so  devotedly, 
as  the  gentle  Carrie  Wood.  She  could  sit,  by  the  hour,  and 
rock  its  cradle,  or  hold  it  in  her  arms,  and  watch  its  unfolding 
intellect  and  budding  charms.  Let  no  one  smile,  and  call  her  a 
simple  child ;  that  is  no  mean  study  for  older  and  wiser  minds. 

This  dear  girl  was  ardently  beloved  by  her  pastor  and  his  wife. 
They,  indeed,  supplied  to  her,  —  what  was  ever  wanting  in  her 
own  home, : —  a  quick  appreciation  of  her  deeper  and  subtler 
emotions,  and  friends  upon  whom  she  could  lean  without  fear 
of  being  burdensome. 

Her  father  was  a  man  of  the  old  Puritanic  sort ;  inflexible 
in  his  pursuit  of  right,  yet  prompted  therein  more  by  a  sense 


LIFE   IN   A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  121 

of  duty  than  i  feeling  of  pleasure.  lie  had  taught  the  village 
Academy  twenty  years,  where  he  ruled  with  a  just,  but  rigid 
hand.  Carrie  was  his  only  daughter  ;  both  she  and  her  threo 
young  brothers  loved  their  father  truly ;  but  it  was  love  con 
taining  a  large  proportion  of  reverence  and  awe.  The  stern 
face  relaxed  indeed,  —  as  whose  could  help  ?  —  under  Carrie'a 
bright  smile,  and  softened  in  her  winsome  ways ;  but  she  never 
opened  to  him  quite  all  her  heart,  lest  he,  so  grave  and  wise, 
should  pronounce  her  foolish. 

The  mother  had  been  many  years  an  invalid ;  a  fond,  indul 
gent  mother,  yet  yielding  step  by  step  to  that  insidious  tendency 
of  protracted  illness,  absorbing  and  selfish  interest  in  her  own 
bodily  infirmities. 

Between  the  two  parents,  the  beautiful  girl  grew  up,  as  we 
find  her  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  neither  chilled  by  restraint,  nor 
spoiled  by  indulgence.  And  at  this  critical  period  of  her  his 
tory  began  her  acquaintance  at  the  parsonage.  There  entered, 
now,  a  new  element  into  the  formative  influences  around  her, 
under  which  her  character  rapidly  developed  in  beauty  and 
strength.  This  result  was  partly  effected  by  the  unconscious 
influence  of  the  pastor  and  his  wife,  but  more  by  their  con 
scious  aim,  and  pains-taking  ;  yet,  it  was  a  labor  that  brought 
its  own  reward.  The  sensitive,  shrinking  girl,  could  not  make 
a  confidant  of  her  father.  In  respect  to  the  other  parent,  the 
order  of  nature  was  becoming  gradually  reversed ;  the  mother 
was  leaning  upon  the  child.  "  Mama  must  not  be  worried," 
was  her  daily  motto,  till  she  acquired  a  habit  of  self-sacrifice, 
)f  yielding  her  own  wishes,  and  submitting  cheerfully  to  little 
iisappointments  and  privations.  If  her  mother's  head  would 
not  bear  the  light,  nor  her  mind  solitude,  Carrie  was  ready  to 
resign  her  favorite  book  or  icedle-work,  and  sit  by  the  hour  in 
dor  darkened  room.  When  an  interval  of  comparative  comfort 
ullowed  her  the  privilege,  she  would  step  across  the  street,  and, 
by  the  side  of  her  dear  Mrs.  Vernon,  or  at  the  loved  piano, 
regain  her  elicsticity  and  freshness. 
11 


122  THE   SHADY    SIDE;     OR, 

When  Dr.  Allison  made  his  New- Year's  visit  at  the  parson 
age,  the  young  girl  was  present  on  his  arrival.  She  had  been 
suffering  two  or  three  weeks  from  a  severe  cold ;  but  that  after 
noon  she  looked,  to  Mrs.  Vernon's  eye,  quite  well  again.  After 
she  left,  Mary  said  to  her  father : 

"  Is  n't  she  beautiful  ?  " 

His  reply  startled  her :  "  Beautiful !  Ah  !  in  our  profes 
sion  we  see  it  often ;  it  is  a  kind  of  beauty  I  cannot  behold 
without  pain." 

"  Why,  father,  your  words  and  look  alarm  me  ;  you  can't 
mean  —  you  don't  think  "  — 

"  I  have  noticed  it  from  the  first,  and  told  you  she  was  frag 
ile  as  a  leaf.  But  now,  indeed,  it  is  too  certain." 

"  But  she  is  so  blooming,  to-day,  and  her  eye  so  bright." 

w  Yes,  —  those  are  the  tokens  ;  it  is  the  hectic  flush." 

"  0,  do  not  say  so,  dear  father !  Would  not  her  friends 
perceive  it  ?  They  do  not  seem  alarmed  ;  it  cannot  be." 

"  It  makes  me  sad  to  grieve  you,  Mary ;  but  you  must,  I 
fear,  make  up  your  mind  to  part  with  your  dear  Carrie.  She 
may  linger  for  many  months ;  but  I  shall  not  be  surprised  if 
she  leaves  you  before  the  flowers  come  again." 

Mary's  emotion  was  at  its  height,  and  she  wept  passionately. 
Her  father  soothed  and  reasoned  her  into  a  calmer  mood. 

Edward  soon  came  in,  and,  learning  the  cause  of  her  agita 
tion,  confessed  that  he  had  entertained  the  same  fears  their 
father  expressed.  "  There  was,"  he  said,  "  something  about  her 
too  ethereal  for  earth,  and  her  growing  maturity  had  of  late 
surprised  him." 

Mary  insisted  that  the  family  should  be  apprized  of  these 
fears.  Mrs.  Wood,  she  said,  had  no  thought  that  Carrie  had 
anything  hard  to  do.  The  house-keeper  was  an  efficient, 
thorough  woman,  and  able,  also,  to  do  the  common  sewing. 
The  nameless,  numberless  steps  taken  daily  by  the  devoted  girl 
in  her  ministry  of  love,  the  poor  invalid  scarcely  considered  a 
fatiguing  exercise.  Yet,  between  these,  —  in  her  mother's  in- 


LIFK    IN    A   COUNTUV    I'AUfcOXAlJE.  123 

areasing  debility,  —  and  her  school  studies,  she  had,  for  the  last 
twelve-month,  taken  far  less  relaxation,  in  the  open  air,  than  her 
delicate  constitution  required. 

When  out  of  school,  it  was,  "  Carrie,  dear,  another  pillow  in 
my  chair;"  or,  "  my  bottle  from  the  shelf;"  or,  "  move  my  foot- 
ptool,"  or  "  dress  my  hair,"  or  "  prepare  a  lunch ;"  "  run  up  stairs, 
darling,  for  this  —  into  the  kitchen  for  that ;"  and  so  on,  twenty 
times  a  day.  And  the  loving  child  stepped  so  quick,  —  her 
foot-fall  was  so  light,  her  smile  so  cheerful,  and  her  manner  so 
easy,  —  that-,  although  Mrs.  Wood  often  said,  "tJarrie  was  a 
great  comfort  to  her,"  she  little  realized  how  the  slender  frame 
was  overtasked. 

It  would,  as  Mary  said,  have  done  no  good  to  alarm  the 
mother's  fears.  Mr.  Vernon  resolved  to  speak  to  Mr.  Wood. 
But  he  deferred  a  day  or  two  for  a  fitting  opportunity,  and 
soon  there  was  no  need  of  caution.  Dr.  Alden  was  seen  to 
enter  the  house  in  haste ;  after  a  while,  he  stepped  across  to  the 
parsonage,  with  a  grave  expression  on  his  naturally  humorous 
face  Mary's  thoughts,  like  a  vigilant  sentinel,  gave  the  alarm, 
and  her  heart  beat  fast. 

"  Mrs.  Vernon,"  said  the  eccentric  doctor,  "  do  go  over 
there." 

"  Carrie  ?  — Tell  me,"  she  said,  hurriedly. 

"  Yes-;  —  she  has  been  bleeding  profusely  at  the  lungs.  Stay, 
—  you  need  n't  run  over  without  your  bonnet ;  she  is  safe  now, 
for  the  present.  I  want  some  sensible  body,  that's  not  easily 
frightened  out  of  their  wits,  to  go  in  and  sit  two  or  three  hours, 
and  keep  her  quiet." 

"And  will  she  be  well  again,  doctor?" 

"  Well?  —  Never!  She'll  go  down  fast,  poor  child.  No, 
nut  poor  ;  she  is  half  an  angel  now;  it  will  not  be  hard  for 
her  to  die.  But  the  Lord  help  'em  there,  when  she  's  gone ! 
There  '11  not  be  a  streak  of  sunshine  in  the  housed" 

Mary  hurried  over.     Low  moans  from  the  mother's  room 


124  THE   SHADY   SIDE;    OH, 

met  her  ear  in  the  hall,  as  Mrs.  Colemai  opened  the  door  to 
see  who  had  come. 

"  Can  I  be  of  use,  there  ?  "  asked  Mrs  Vernon. 

"  No,"  said  the  lively  little  woman ;  "  no,  it 's  nothing  now. 
The  doctor  has  given  her  a  heavy  opiate,  and  she  will  be  asleep 
soon.  You  would  n't  mind  this,  if  you  had  seen  the  way  she 
was  taking  on,  when  I  first  came  in ;  it  distressed  Carrie  so 
much." 

"  Is  she  above?"  interrupted  Mrs.  Vernon,  fearful  of  being 
detained  to  h%ar  a  long  story.  "  I  had  better  go  to  her." 

"  Yes,  do.  She  is  very  quiet  now ;  her  father  has  just  come 
down ;  but  she  fainted  twice  after  I  came." 

Mary  stayed  not  longer,  but  stepped  softly  up  to  Carrie's 
room.  Standing  at  the  door  a  moment,  unobserved,  she  looked 
in  upon  the  bed.  The  dear  girl  was  very  pale,  and  lay  with 
her  eyes  closed.  The  house-keeper  was  watching  beside  her, 
and  beckoned  Mrs.  Vernon  to  approach.  She  took  a  seat 
noiselessly,  and  strove  to  calm  her  feelings  by  a  silent  uplifting 
of  her  soul  to  God.  Presently,  Carrie  opened  her  eyes,  and 
met  the  tender  gaze  of  her  beloved  friend  with  a  sweet  smile. 
She  had  been  trying,  in  vain,  to  sleep.  Mary  sent  the  house 
keeper  below,  and  took  her  place.  Then  she  kissed  the  pale 
cheek,  and  whispered  precious  words  of  consolation. 

"  My  poor  mother !  "  said  the  unselfish  child. 

"  She  is  quiet  now,  dear  Carrie.  The  Lord  will  comfort 
her ;  He  doeth  all  things  well.  Let  us  take  no  thought  for  the 
morrow.  He  will  order  everything  for  us,  and  just  as  smoothly 
aa  is  consistent  with  our  best  good.  It  is  sweet  to  lie  passive 
in  his  hand,  and  know  no  will  but  his." 

One  more  smile,  and  the  weary  eyelids  drooped,  the  thin, 
white  hand  nestled  between  the  two  that  held  it  so  protectingly, 
and  the  exhausted  girl  sunk  into  a  gentle  slumber. 

Some  minutes  after,  Mr.  Wood  looked  in  upon  the  scene. 
Carrie's  sleep  had  brought  a  faint  flush  to  her  check,  across 
Which  lay  one  golden  curl  ana  her  parted  lips  wore  a  smile  of 


LIKE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  125 

heavenly  peace ;  while  Mrs.  Vernon  still  held  her  hand,  and 
eat  with  closed  eyes,  through  which  the  tears  were  slowly  trick« 
ling,  and  a  drooping  posture,  betokening  the  most  tender  grief. 
Stern  man  as  he  was,  the  scene  touched  his  heart  to  its  depths, 
and  he  turned  away  with  a  sharp  pain  at  the  thought  of  what 
he  was  about  to  lose,  and  a  fervent  blessing  upon  the  young 
pastor's  wife. 

Dr.  Alden's  prediction,  concerning  his  patient,  was  painfully 
verified.  Her  decline  was  rapid  and  unremitting.  Her  char 
acter  shone  with  increasing  lustre  to  the  end,  —  her  cheerful 
trust  in  the  lledeemer,  her  patient  endurance  of  suffering,  her 
generous  self-forgetfulncss  and  care  for  others. 

It  was  touching  to  see  the  rallying  of  maternal  affection  in 
tha  bosom  of  the  wasted  invalid.  She  "  must  do  something 
for  the  dear  child,"  and  almost  every  day  insisted  on  being  car 
ried  to  her  chamber,  though  her  want  of  self-control  often 
made  her  presence  more  of  a  trial  than  a  comfort. 

A  neighbor,  one  day,  in  the  sick-room,  expressed  her  sym 
pathy  for  the  afflicted  mother.  "  0,  yes  !"  said  the  considerate 
girl,  "  poor  mania  feels  sadly ;  but  her  sorrow  will  not  last 
long,  —  she  will  follow  me  soon.  Dear  father  will  suffer  tho 
most ;  he  will  keep  his  grief  to  himself,  and  have  no  comforter. 
I  forget,  —  Jesus  can  find  access  to  him,  and  his  sympathy  is 
worth  more  than  all  beside." 

Mr.  Vernon  and  his  wife  were  untiring  in  their  attendance 
upon  the  afflicted  family.  His  counsels  and  prayers,  always 
prized  by  Mrs.  Wood,  were  now  indispensable  to  her ;  while  his 
presence  had,  for  Carrie,  a  double  charm.  She  loved  him  as  a 
dear,  valued  friend;  she  confided  in  him  as  her  spiritual  guide 
and  counsellor.  Every  moment  that  Mary  could  spare  from 
her  other  engagements  was  devoted  to  her  young  friend. 
Though  there  were  many  others  to  sympathize,  and  watch,  and 
help,  none  of  them  all  could  supply  to  Carrie  the  place  of  her 
dear  Mrs.  Vernon.  No  step  in  the  sick-chamber  was  so  light 
as  hers ;  no  voice  so  soft  and  nicely  modulated  to  the  sufferer's 
11* 


126  THE    SHADY    SIDE;    OK, 

sensitive  ear ;  no  hand  could  quite  so  delicately  smooth  tha 
pillows,  and  administer  the  bitter  potion,  or  refreshing  draught; 
no  lips  speak  so  sweetly  to  her  heart  of  the  precious  things 
that  make  a  dying  bed  feel  "  soft  as  downy  pillows  are ;" 
no  heart  so  closely  intertwined  with  hers  in  the  bends  of  natural 
and  Christian  sympathy. 

March,  with  its  chilling  winds  and  funereal  gloom,  brought 
the  final  scene ;  a  scene-  within ,  that  contrasted  —  0,  how 
brightly  !  —  with  the  drear  and  desolate,  without.  If  there 
was  any  one  epithet  that  could  express  the  whole,  it  was  "per 
fect  peace."  With  sweet  serenity  Carrie's  farewell  words  were 
all  spoken.  Even  the  wild  grief  of  the  stricken  mother  was 
hushed  into  subdued  tears.  The  father,  with  bowed  head,  and 
arms  folded  on  his  breast,  was  ^tilling  his  rebellious  heart  be 
neath  the  righteous  decree  of  a  sovereign  God,  and  trying  to 
plant  himself,  with  a  firmer  confidence,  on  the  Rock  of  ages. 
The  young  brothers  were  awed  into  silence  by  the  mj'sterious 
presence  of  death.  It  was  early  morning,  and  two  neighbors, 
who  had  watched  through  the  night,-  waited  to  see  the  end. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Vernon  had  been  hastily  summoned.  He  had 
offered  fervent  prayer,  and  now  stood  at  the  bedside,  his  eye 
moist  with  chastened  sorrow,  and  bright  with  the  new  beams 
of  glory  let  in  from  the  life  and  immortality  beyond  the  vail. 
Mary  held  the  hand  of  the  dying  girl  in  hers,  and  took  the 
last  cold  parting  kiss,  and  whispered  a  word  of  Jesus,  and  bent 
to  catch  the  faint  reply,  "  He  is  with  me,  —  all  is  peace." 
None  thought  she  would  speak  again ;  but  presently,  in  broken 
whispers,  she  said,  "  Sing  —  Jesus  —  lover  —  of  my  —  soul." 
Seeing  Mary  hesitate,  as  unequal  to  the  task,  she  turned  her 
eye  expressively  on  her  pastor,  who  caught  her  meaning,  and 
began  the  hymn  with  low,  soft  melody.  With  her  voice  thus 
supported,  Mary  was  able  to  go  through,  and  the  clear,  sweet 
strains  rose  solemnly  up,  and  mingled  with  the  angel  choir, 
whose  music  seemed  now,  rather  than  these  earthly  notes,  txj 
catch  the  spirit's  sense ;  for  Carrie,  with  her  eyes  turned  hear- 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTUY    PARSONAGE.  127 

enward,  was  no  longer  conscious  of  earthly  things.  A  fetr 
quick  gasps,  and  the  pastor's  voice  broke  the  stillness  :  "  Into 
thy  hands,  blessed  Jesus,  we  commend  this  departing  spirit." 
The  mother  had  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  that  sho 
might  not  see  her  child  die  ;  but,  at  these  words,  knowing  that 
all  was  over,  she  gave  a  piercing  shriek,  and  was  borne  sense 
less  from  the  chamber.  The  others  followed,  leaving  Mary 
alone  with  the  dead.  She  embraced  the  lifeless  form,  still  so 
dear ;  closed  the  eyes  which  had  ever  met  hers  with  a  look  of 
fondness;  composed  the  features,  beautiful  in  their  last  sleep; 
and,  dropping  on  her  knees  beside  the  bed,  gave  way  to  a  pas 
sionate  flood  of  tears. 

Mr.  Wood  came  back  and  found  her  thus.  "  Tears,"  said 
he,  "  are  a  blessed  relief;  but  they  are  denied  to  me.  My  heart 
can  ache,  but  my  eyes  are  dry."  She  rose,  and  gave  him  her 
hand,  but  could  not  speak.  He  grasped  it  warmly,  and  said. 
as  he  noticed  her  pale  face,  "  You  have  worn  yourself  out  for 
us,  and  I  want  to  thank  you.  She  loved  you  with  all  her 
heart.  I  shall  never  forget  your  kindness.  Mr.  Vernbn,  too, 
has  been  very  faithful.  May  Heaven  reward  you  !  "  Ay,  he 
may  well  keep  this  kindness  in  perpetual  remembrance,  suffer 
ing  no  breath  of  coldness  to  damp  his  grateful  love  toward 
those  who  so  tenderly  cherished  his  darling  child. 

And  will  he  never  forget  it  ?  0,  human  heart,  strangely 
erratic  and  perverse!  Time  only  can  determine. 


128  THE   SHADY   SIDE;    OR, 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"And  ho  said,  'Go  look.'  And  he  said,  '  There  is  nothing.'  'Look 
again,  seven  times.'  And  he  said,  '  Behold,  there  ariseth  a  little  cloud  out 
of  the  sea,  like  a  man's  hand.'  " 

"  It  was  not  an  enemy  that  reproached  me  :  then  I  could  have  borne  it  ; 
neither  was  it  he  that  hated  me,  that  did  magnify  himself  against  me." 

A  YEAR  and  a  half  roll  swiftly  by,  ere  we  take  another  look 
into  the  Salem  parsonage.  The  baby  has,  by  this  time,  grown 
to  be  a  prattling  child,  with  large,  spiritual  eyes,  through  which 
the  soul  gazes,  as  if  looking  from  another  and  purer  sphere 
upon  this  sin-stained  earth.  The  mother  is  still  young  and 
fair,  though  with  perceptibly  lessened  bloom.  Her  brow,  still 
open  and  serene,  wears  an  expression  of  deeper  and  mere  anx 
ious  thought.  There  is  the  same  cheecful  face,  yet  with  a 
chastened  look,  as  if  tears  had  been  there  in  April  showers, 
and,  despite  the  quick-returning  sunshine,  left  their  memorial. 
A  close  inspection  of  "  the  study  "  will  satisfy  us  that  the  pas 
tor  is  still  the  diligent  scholar,  and  the  vigorous  writer,  and  the 
faithful  preacher.  On  the  table  lies  the  half-written  sermon 
for  the  coming  Sabbath,  the  last  paragraph  bearing  the  marks 
of  an  agitated  mind  and  tremulous  hand  ;  the  pen  has  evidently 
been  dropped  in  haste,  and  the  writer  is  away.  If  we  pursue 
the  matter,  we  may  find  him  in  a  corn-field,  half  a  mile  west 
ward,  in  close  and  earnest  conference  with  Deacon  Ely. 

It  is  noon,  and  the  school-children  are  dispersing  for  din 
ner.  In  the  door  of  the  old  Academy  stand  Esquire  Lewis 
and  Mr.  Wood,  as  in  grave  consultation.  What  has  thus 
drawn  together  the  careless,  loose-jointed,  jovial  squire,  and  the 
precise,  orthodox,  sober  schoolmaster  ?  A  church  meeting  is 
to  be  held  at  four  o'clock,  at  which  two  or  three  cases  of  dis- 


LIFE    IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  129 

cipline,  s.>me  time  pending,  are  to  be  issued.  These  things  look 
a  little  ominous,  though  mere  gpecks  on  the  border  of  the  hori 
zon.  Throughout  the  parish  there  is  general  quiet,  —  a  growing 
attachment  to  the  pastor's  family,  and  unbounded  confidence  in 
the  minister  of  their  choice.  Yet  the  last  eighteen  months 
have  wrought  some  changes  in  the  community,  and  brought  a 
new  inmate  to  the  parsonage.  A  few  historical  facts  will 
enable  us  to  understand  the  position  of  things. 

As  the  result,  partly,  of  the  last  special  work  of  grace,  the 
public  sentiment  of  the  church  was  greatly  improved,  and  the 
standard  of  Christian  practice  elevated.  A  class  of  youngerly 
men,  who  had  become  hopefully  pious  under  Mr.  Vernon's  min 
istry,  were  fast  becoming  the  bone  and  sinew  of  the  church. 
Uniting  with  the  most  spiritual  of  its  former  members,  they 
were  soon  strong  enough  to  attempt  the  reform  of  certain 
abuses,  long  tolerated  to  the  reproach  of  the  Christian  cause. 
Stimulated  by  the  discriminating,  pungent  appeals  of  the  pulpit, 
and  led  by  their  pastor,  whose  zeal  was  tempered  by  charity, 
and  whose  judgment  was  aided  by  the  wise  counsels  of  his  aged 
deacon,  they  prosecuted  the  work  with  great  prudence  and 
energy,  and  much  success. 

But  Satan  does  not  take  such  blows  as  these  without  resist 
ance.  He  would  rather  resign  the  chief  seat  in  a  den  of 
iniquity,  than  be  ousted  from  a  very  obscure  and  low  place  in 
the  fold  of  Christ.  He  would  rather  have  his  synagogue 
whitewashed,  than  the  church  purified.  But  he  could  not  do 
much  to  stay  the  work  in  Salem,  unless  he  employed  as  agents 
other  than  his  known  adherents.  If  he  can  stir  up  some  par 
tially  good  men  to  hinder  the  progress  of  reform,  he  may  laugh 
in  his  sleeve  ;  and,  unfortunately,  such  instruments  are  seldom 
wanting. 

There  are  some  loose  disciples  in  every  church,  at  present  in 
good  standing,  who  are  afraid  to  have  the  reins  of  discipline 
drawn  closely,  lest  they  shall,  ere  long,  feel  the  bit.  Thero 
were  a  few  such  in  Salem.  Yet  they  could  make  but  littla 


130  THE   SHADY    SIDE  J    OR, 

trouble,  without  some  better  men  as  coadjutors.  One  such  they 
found  in  Rsquire  Lewis. 

The  'squire,  at  the  first,  really  liked  his  minister,  and  did  not 
share  the  feelings  of  the  family,  even  when  it  was  found  he 
was  about  to  take  a  wife  from  abroad.  He  was  not  only  too 
gooti-natured  but  too  indolent  to  be  any  man's  active  foe;  it 
was  too  much  trouble 'for  him  to  take  care  of  a  quarrel.  But 
what  man  is  proof  against  constant  home  influences  ?  "  The 
waters  wear  away  the  stones."  By  degrees  he  caught  the 
atmosphere  of  his  house,  and  his  warm  cordiality  toward  Mr. 
Vernon  was  gradually  chilled.  The  daughters  were  still  un 
married,  and  Mrs.  Lewis  could  not  forgive  Mr.  Vernon  the 
disappointment  of  her  ambitious  hopes.  She  artfully  incited 
her  husband  to  oppose  this  new  movement  in  the  church,  and 
from  her  lips  he  took  his  cue.  His  opposition  was  in  the  popular 
form  of  harangue ;  he  talked  against  it  here  and  there,  till  he 
was  relied  upon  by  the  delinquents  and  their  defenders  as  one  of 
their  party.  His  talk  was  on  this  wise  :  —  "  He  liked  to  keep 
things  straight,  as  well  as  anybody.  The  openly  immoral,  of 
course,  should  be  cut  off;  but  he  was  not  for  such  extreme 
measures  with  all.  We  must  not  make  a  man  an  offender  for 
a  word.  If  we  bear  with  them,  they  may  come  round  yet. 
The  difficulty  "with  some  of  them  is,  they  never  have  liked  the 
minister,  'specially  since  he  came  out  so  strong  on  temperance. 
We  have  always  had  peace  here.  These  measures  are  going  to 
divide  and  break  us  up.  We  don't  want  the  minister  to  drive  a 
ploughshare  through  the  church.  Why  can't  he  wink  at  some 
things  for  the  sake  of  peace  ?  "  Such  were  the  'squire's  views. 

As  the  time  approached  for  decisive  action,  he  stepped  over 
to  ask  Mr.  Wood  to  be  present,  and  help  carry  a  motion  for 
postponement. 

But  what  hope  was  there  of  the  cooperation  of  such  a  man 
in  opposing  the  discipline  of  the  church  ?  With  his  regard  for 
justice,  his  inflexible  integrity,  his.  strict  orthodoxy,  and  exem 
plary  practice,  we  should  count  upon  him  as  a  most  reliable 


UJ?B   IX    A    COUNTUY    PAESONAOE.        '  131 

man  in  a  course  of  disciplinary  measures.  How  came  it  to 
pass,  then,  that,  while  his  conscience  forbade  him  to  oppose,  ho 
stood  aloof  and  left  his  brethren  to  proceed  without  him  ?  What 
has  come  over  him  that  Esquire  Lewis  should  presume  to  solicit 
his  influence  against  that  of  his  minister  ?  Thereby  hangs  a 
talo,  and,  as  it  involves  the  very  topic  of  Mr.  Vernon's  earnest 
conference  with  Deacon  Ely,  we  may  as  well  bring  it  forward. 
After  Carrie's  death,  Mrs.  Wood  declined  rapidly,  till  three 
months  of  intense  suffering  released  her  to  join  the  dear  one 
whose  loss  shn  daily  bemoaned.  All  this  time  the  pastor  and 
his  wife  continued  their  kind  attentions.  Mr.  Wood  could 
hardly  have  gone  to  his  school  from  day  to  day,  had  he  not 
felt  that,  in  case  of  an  emergency,  the  parsonage  was  close  by, 
and  the  inmates  ready,  at  the  first  call,  to  minister  to  his  suf 
fering  wife.  At  her  death  a  great  change  took  place  in  his 
domestic  establishment.  His  sister  became  the  presiding  genius 
of  the  place.  She  was  much  like  her  brother,  —  of  stroi;^ 
mind  and  undoubted  piety,  —  but  unsocial  in  her  temper,  and 
with  a  certain  independence  of  spirit  that  gave  to  her  bearing 
a  degree  of  austerity  in  the  eye  of  a  stranger.  Mary  felt  that 
her  presence  threw  a  chill  over  the  tender  recollections  and 
associations  connected  with  that  familiar  dwelling.  Still  they 
were  on  friendly  terms.  Mr.  Wood  seemed  to  rely  on  his  friends 
at  the  parsonage  for  social  and  religious  converse.  His  afflic 
tions  did  not  so  much  melt  his  soul  as  elevate  it  to  more  lofty 
and  earnest  meditation  on  the  great  themes  of  immaterial  exist 
ence,  and  heavenly  employments,  and  the  rewards  of  immortal 
ity.  Mary  often  said  of  him,  "  He  is  a  man  of  clear  intellect 
and  spiritual  mind ;  —  what  a  pity  he  has  n't  more  heart ! "  Once, 
indeed,  he  did  exhibit  more.  He  was  noticing  little  Abby  with 
something  of  fondness,  and  her  mother  asked  him  if  her  hair 
did  not  remind  him  of  Carrie's.  He  said  he  thought  it  darker. 
Whereupon,  she  took  from  a  casket  on  the  shelf  a  golden  curl, 
that  she  kept  as  a  sacred  relic,  and  laid  it  across  the  forehead 
of  the  child,  remarking,  with  a  subdued  voice,  that  it  was  a 


132  THE    SHADY    SIDE  ;    OR, 

shade  lighter,  but  Abbj's  had  the  same  wavy  curl  and  softness. 
Mr.  Wood  was  taken  by  surprise,  and  quite  unmanned;  — ha 
bowed  his  head,  and  two  large  tears  rolled  oil  his  cheek.  Mary 
said,  afterward,  she  should  feel  more  tenderly  toward  Mr. 
Wood,  now  she  knew  he  had  in  his  nature,  somewhere,  a  foun 
tain  of  tears.  This  incident,  however,  is  nothing  to  our  pur 
pose  now. 

It  is  about  three  months  since  Mr.  Rogers,  pastor  of  an 
adjoining  parish,  rode  over  to  brother  Vernon's  to  tell  his  story 
of  disappointment  and  perplexity.  He  was  a  man  somewhat 
past  the  prime  of  life,  with  humble  gifts,  and  had  exercised  his 
vocation  in  his  present  field,  more  than  a  dozen  years,  on  a  sal 
ary  of  four  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  Like  his  illustrious 
ancestor  of  the  same  name,  he  had  a  wife  and  nine  children, 
with  one  at  the  breast.  To  meet  their  simplest  wants,  and 
rear  them  thus  far  on  his  stinted  support,  had,  with  his  profes 
sional  cares,  silvered  his  locks  and  wrinkled  his  cheeks,  and 
bowed  his  form,  long  before  he  reached  his  threescore  years. 
His  oldest  daughter  was  just  seventeen.  We  may  not  stop  to 
relate  all  his  shifts  and  turns  in  order  to  give  Julia  a  good  edu 
cation.  She  was  an  apt  scholar.  If  she  could  only  have  a 
book  in  one  hand,  she  would  learn,  despite  the  usual  incum- 
brance  of  a  baby  on  the  other  arm.  For  the  last  year  he  had 
managed  to  send  her  to  a  drawing-master  and  music-teacher, 
as  she  had  natural  gifts  in  their  line.  He  had  looked  forward 
to  this  season  as  the  time  when  she  would  relieve  his  straitened 
income,  by  taking  charge  of  the  village  school,  and  give  his 
younger  children,  with  others,  better  instruction  than  they  had 
hitherto  enjoyed.  He  had  conferred  with  the  district  com 
mittee,  and  engaged  the  place ;  but,  as  the  time  drew  near  for 
the  opening  of  the  summer  term,  there  was  quite  a  tempest  in 
the  community.  Some  said,  "  They  did  not  want  Julia  llogers, 
with  her  new-fangled  notions,  to  teach  their  children."  Others 
that  "  It  was  real  selfish  in  the  minister  to  put  his  daughter  in 
the  school,  and  have  her  board  at  home,  and  take  his  pay  for 


LIPE   IN   A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  133 

her  board,  besides  her  wages,  when  there  were  poorer  folks  than 
he  in  the  district."  Some  influential  people  uttered  the  vague 
objection  that  it  "  would  make  jealousies,  and  might  lead  to  the 
dismission  of  the  minister ;"  and  so  the  talk  went  round,  till  he 
was  glad  to  withdraw  his  claim,  and  stop  the  clamor.  It  had 
occurred  to  him,  lately,  that,  notwithstanding  the  summer  was 
so  far  advanced,  there  might  be  some  small  district  in  Salem 
without  a  teacher,  and  he  had  rode  over.  If  he  should  get 
only  sympathy,  the  ride  would  not  be  lost ;  for  he  felt  very  low. 
He  had  left  Mrs.  Rogers  in  tears  (she  was  not  up  from  her 
last  confinement),  and  Julia  trying  to  comfort  her. 

But  sympathy  was  not  all  he  was  destined  to  receive.  Mr. 
Vernon  had  often  heard  the  want  of  a  lady's  school  in  the  vil 
lage  lamented  by  his  best  families.  The  Academy  was  very 
good  and  thorough  in  its  way  ;  but  other  advantages  were  needed 
for  girls  in  their  teens.  He  was  confident  that,  with  a  little 
effort,  a  small  private  school  might  be  started ;  the  income 
would  be  something,  and  Julia  should  be  welcome  for  the  pres 
ent  to  a  home  in  his  own  family ;  —  an  offer  which  Mary's  kind 
heart  had  already  anticipated. 

"  But,"  said  she,  "  what  will  Mr.  Wood  say  to  the  school  ? 
Mrs.  Crampton  told  me  that  they  had  tried  several  times  for 
one,  but  he  was  so  opposed  they  had  to  give  it  up." 

"  If  /  undertake  it,"  was  the  reply,  "  I  think  it  will  succeed, 
if  he  docs  oppose  it."  (Ah,  Edward  !  with  that  curl  of  the  lip, 
take  care,  or  you  will  get  into  trouble.)  "  But  he  is  a  reasoc- 
able  man,  and  I  can  convince  him  that  the  public  good  requires 
such  a  school.  I  will  step  out  around  the  village,  and  see  how 
many  names  I  can  get." 

Mary  followed  him  to  the  door  to  say,  "  It  is  nearly  time 
for  the  Academy  to  be  out ;  had  you  not  better  talk  with  Mr. 
Wood  first  ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear,"  said  he,  with  'smiling  decision,  "  I  shall  not 
think  it  necessary  to  say  to  him,  '  By  your  leave,  sir.'  " 

The  result  was  more  successful  than  was  expected  ;  —  twelre 
12 


134  THE   SHADY    BIDE ;    OB, 

pupils  were  subscribed,  five  of  whom  were  attending  the  Acad 
emy  ;  a  room  was  obtained,  and  the  day  appointed  for  the 
opening  of  the  term.  Poor  Mr.  Rogers  went  home  with  a 
light  heart. 

It  was  Mr.  Vernon's  purpose  to  call  on  Mr.  Wood,  the  next 
day,  and  state  the  case ;  but  he  took  it  quite  too  leisurely ;  the 
day  slipped  by,  and  company  in  the  evening  occupied  him. 
The  day  following  he  went  over  early,  but  it  was  Saturday,  and 
a  holiday ;  the  house  was  locked,  and  the  family  gone  to  the 
city.  Before  their  return  the  minister. was  obliged  to  leave 
home,  on  an  exchange  of  Sabbath  services ;  so  that  Monday 
morning  came,  and  with  it  Miss  Rogers,  to  commence  her 
school,  while  as  yet  the  active  agent  in  the  new  movement  had 
not  conferred  with  the  old  instructor.  But  the  latter  was  not 
the  while  unconscious  of  what  had  transpired.  Rumor  is 
many-mouthed  and  fleet  of  foot.  What  marvel  that  Mr.  Wood 
was  first  grieved  and  then  indignant  ?  What  marvel  that  he 
saw  in  the  little  school  a  future  formidable  rival  ?  Aware  of 
the  infirmity  of  human  nature,  might  we  not  have  anticipated 
his  cool,  stern  reception  of  the  minister,  when,  at  last,  he 
called  to  offer  explanation  ?  It  was  useless,  now,  to  reason  with 
him  upon  the  need  of  such  advantages  as  the  Academy  did  not 
furnish.  It  was  vain  to  persuade  him  that  this  humble  enter 
prise  would  walk  meekly  on,  in  the  shadow  of  his,  well-estab 
lished  and  of  good  repute.  It  was  hopeless  to  touch  his  sym 
pathies  with  the  story  of  the  young  girl's  disappointment  and 
destitution.  All  this  might  possibly  have  been  effected  days 
ago;  but  now  the  immutable  Mr.  Wood  had  settled  it  in  his 
mind  that  some  of  his  patrons  were  disaffected,  and  had  formed 
a  conspiracy  against  him,  and  that  the  minister  was  lending 
himself  to  their  designs.  "  If  there  were  no  underhand  plot 
ting,  —  if  Mr.  Vernon  were  self-moved  in  the  matter,  —  what 
more  natural  than  that  he  should  come  to  me  first,  and  consult 
my  feelings  ?  "  Mr.  Vernon  rehearsed  the  circumstances ;  but 
the  statement  only  met  a  cherished  resentment  that  was  not  to 


LIFE   IN    A  COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  135 

be  mollified.  His  expression  of  regret,  that  he  did  not  seek  an 
earlier  interview,  was  of  no  avail,  since  it  did  not  confess  an 
actual  wrong,  and  offer  reparation.  Mr.  Wood,  in  his  suprem 
acy,  felt  that  he  was  the  guardian  and  representative  of  the 
educational  interests  of  the  village;  and  that  no  one,  not  even 
the  minister,  had  a  right  to  do  aught  in  this  department  with 
out  his  knowledge  and  consent.  To  this  high  assumption,  Mr, 
'Vernon  was  not  disposed  to  yield.  It  was,  doubtless,  proper 
that,  in  this  case,  Mr.  Wood  should  have  been  early  advised  of 
proceedings.  It  would  have  been  polite,  as  well  as  just,  to  con 
sult  him  first ;  but  the  independent  spirit  of  the  pastor  only 
half-admitted  this  to  himself.  In  the  face  of  Mr.  Wood's  over 
bearing  demeanor  and  unjust  accusations,  his  feelings  were 
wounded,  and  he  was  in  no  mood  for  a  humble  apology ;  and  so 
the  painful  interview  ended  ;  —  the  schoolmaster  went  his  way 
to  cherish  alienation  and  bitterness ;  the  pastor  went  to  his 
study  with  a  weight  upon  his  spirit.  Yet  the  white  slab  over 
Carrie's  grave  was  plainly  visible  from  both  dwellings,  and  her 
memory  had  not  grown  cold  in  either  heart. 

To  Mary,  this  alienation  was  a  source  of  exquisite  »grief, 
adding  a  new  and  bitter  element  to  the  recollections  hitherto 
fraught  with  sweetly  sad  and  gentle  emotions.  When  Deacon 
Ely  rer-orted  at  the  parsonage,  as  the  result  of  his  interview 
with  the  offended  brother,  the  emphatic  declaration,  —  "  He  has 
injured  me ;  and  though  I  shall  never  oppose  him,  I  must  and 
shall  let  him  alcnie"  —  Mary  could  not  forbear  exclaiming, 
"  What  an  iron-hearted  man  !  "  and  sighing  to  herself,  Poor, 
doar  Carrie !  " 

It  was  shortly  after  this  that  the  church  commenced  its  dis 
ciplinary  measures,  from  which  Mr.  Wood  kept  aloof,  much  to 
the  grief  of  his  good  brethren,  and  the  inward  joy  of  the  work 
ers  of  iniquity.  Several  cases  had  been  issued,  with  almost 
entire  unanimity ;  but  the  two  last  elicited  warm  opposition. 
The  situation  of  affairs  perplexed  and  distressed  the  young  pas 
tor.  As  the  crisis  drew  near,  he  found  it  difficult  to  concen- 


136  THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OR, 

trate  his  thoughts  upon  his  sermon ;  so  he  dropped  the  pen,  as 
we  have  seen,  and  sought  the  counsel  of  his  worthy  deacon. 

Deacon  Ely  agreed  with  him  that  his  difficulty  with  Mr. 
Wood  was  most  unfortunate  for  the  cause  of  truth,  and  sug 
gested  that  another  effort  be  made  for  reconciliation. 

Mr.  Vernon  was  willing,  but  not  very  hopeful. 

"  How  much,"  said  the  deacon,  "  are  you  willing  to  con 
cede?" 

The  minister  replied,  "that  he  had  already  acknowledged 
that  he  was  inconsiderate  and  faulty  in  not  opening  the  matter 
sooner  to  Mr.  Wood." 

"  And  had  he  not  some  claim  to  be  consulted  first  ?  " 

Mr.  V.  thought  he  might  have  had,  but  for  the  fact  of  his 
opposition  to  previous  efforts  of  the  kind. 

"  Well,  now,"  continued  the  peace-maker,  "  can  you  not  say 
that  you  regret  having  taken  a  step  to  open  another  school  till 
you  had  first  laid  the  matter  before  him,  and  learned  his 
views  ? " 

"  What !  when  my  regrets  would  be  only  for  prudential 
reasons  ?  That  would  be  worse  than  useless.  No ;  if  I  say 
anything,  I  must  go  to  the  bottom  ;  and  you  may  judge  whether 
it  would  be  very  conciliatory.  I  should  have  to  say  to  him,  '  I 
did  not  come  to  you  at  first,  because  I  knew  you  to  be  an 
impracticable  man,  resolutely  set  on  your  own  ends.  /,  too, 
have  some  independence  and  determination.  I  had  set  my 
heart  on  the  measure,  and  meant  to  carry  it.  I  believed  it 
to  be  for  the  public  good,  and  no  loss  to  you  in  the  end.  I 
presumed  on  our  good  understanding  to  prevent  any  serious  dis 
affection.  After  the  thing  had  assumed  shape,  I  ought  to  have 
communicated  with  you  at  once,  and  would  renew  my  apology 
for  this  neglect,'  " 

The  deacon  smiled,  and  said  it  was  always  best  to  be  honest 
and  outspoken ;  and  he  was  not  certain  that  these  very  words, 
uttered  frankly  to  Mr.  Wood,  might  not  be  thf  kisis  of  restored 


LIFE    IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  137 

harmony.  '•  At  any  rate,  we  can  try,  if  you  are  willing,  after 
meeting." 

The  church  meeting  passed  off  more  peacefully  than  was 
anticipated.  Esquire  Lewis  did  not  get  the  cooperation  he 
sought.  There  had  been  much  prayer  and  self-searching  in  the 
closet.  The  majority  came  together  with  a  tender  solemnity 
of  spirit,  that  awed  the  opposition  to  silence.  The  power  of 
Christ  was  present,  administering  the  discipline  of  his  house  in 
firmness  and  love. 

It  was  evening  when  Deacon  Ely  asked  Mr.  "Wood  to  go 
over  to  the  minister's  study,  and  have  an  interview. 

"  It  is  of  no  use,"  said  the  inflexible  man.  The  deacon 
argued,  but  to  no  purpose.  He  offered  to  bring  Mr.  Vernon 
there,  but  he  was  resolute  j  —  he  did  not  wish  the  matter  agi 
tated  further ;  adding,  resolutely,  "  I  have  always  been  friendly 
to  Mr.  Vernon,  and  done  what  I  could  to  sustain  him,  till  he 
set  up  the  school  in  the  way  he  did ;  ttien  I  dropped  him" 

Alas  I  how  many  are  the  pastors  who,  for  causes  slight  as 
this,  are  made  to  realize  the  force  of  the  proverb,  "  A  brottier 
offended  is  harder  to  be  won  than  a  strong  city  "  ' 

Edward  Vernon  was  a  man  of  too  exquisite  sensibility  not  to 
be  deeply  wounded  by  this  non-intercourse  act.  Said  he  to 
Deacon  Ely,  "  How  can  I  live  here,  with  this  estrangement ; 
reminded  as  I  am  of  our  former  intimacy,  with  all  its  tender 
associations,  every  time  I  look  across  the  street  ?  I  do  not 
think  I  shall  bear  it  long." 

"  0,  sir,"  was  the  reply,  "  you  must  not  dwell  upon  it.  It 
will  wear  away.  I  hope  you  will  not  think  of  quitting  the 
field  for  one  man.  Hold  on  patiently,  and  all  will  come  out 
well.  I  have  hope  of  Mr.  Wood  yet,  though  he  seems  made 
of  sterner  stuff  than  other  men.  He  is,  I  trust,  sound  at  heart, 
and  cannot  hold  his  displeasure  forever." 

That  night  the  deacon  told  his  wife  and  Leevy  tha  t  he  trem 
bled  lest  they  should  be  call  3d,  ere  long,  to  part  with  their 
minister.  There  wore  parishes  enough  to  call  him,  if  it  should 


138  THE   SHADY   SIDE  J    OR, 

be  known  that  he  was  uneasy  here.  "  I  don't  know,"  said  he, 
"  but  I  have  thought  too  much  of  the  instrument,  and  too  little 
of  the  power  that  wields  it.  I  have  certainly  leaned  more  on 
this  young  man  than  on  any  other  human  helper.  I  fear  tho 
Lord  is  about  to  chasten  me  sorely,  by  his  removal." 

A  few  weeks  more  pass,  and  it  begins  to  be  rumored  abroad 
that  the  Salem  minister  is  ill  at  ease,  —  that  the  sky  is  not 
exactly  clear  over  his  head  A  deputation  from  a  distant 
church  pass  a  Sabbath  under  his  preaching,  and  call  to  confer 
with  him  about  a  transfer  to  their  young  and  thriving  manu 
facturing  village.  He  tries  his  own  heart,  by  an  imagined 
leave-taking,  and  finds  that  many  and  strong  are  the  cords  that 
hold  him  to  his  people ;  and  the  first  to  feel  is  the  tie  between 
him  and  his  father  in  the  Lord,  the  beloved  deacon.  There  are, 
indeed,  some  strong  motives  urging  to  a  serious  consideration 
of  the  proposal.  The  change  will  introduce  him  to  a  larger 
sphere  of  usefulness,  and  put  his  talents  more  thoroughly  in 
requisition  for  his  Master's  cause.  Underneath  this  plausible 
plea,  did  there  lurk  an  unslain  head  of  the  old  hydra,  ambition  ? 
Who  shall  put  his  finger  on  the  pulsations  of  that  unknowable 
thing,  the  deceitful  heart,  and  say,  this  throb  is  from  pure  love 
to  God  and  man;  that  beat  from  desire  of  self-aggrandizement ; 
here  is  an  exultation  at  the  power  to  move  and  mould  others, 
prompted  by  disinterested  love ;  there  is  the  same  joy  springing 
from  the  mere  love  of  conscious  skill  and  power  ?  Be  this  as 
it  may,  Mr.  Vernon  discouraged  the  application ;  yet  scarcely 
was  the  thing  done  ere  it  was  half-repented  of.  And  now  He 
who  seeth  all  hearts  tried  his  servant  further,  by  a  mys 
terious  dispensation.  Deacon  Ely  was  suddenly  called  to  his 
rest.  Bitter,  indeed,  was  this  cup  to  many  a  lip.  The  young 
pastor,  heart-stricken,  took  up  the  lamentation  of  Elisha,  "  My 
father !  my  father !  the  chariots  of  Israel,  and  the  horsemen 
thereof!  "  His  almost  rebellious  heart  asked  not  calmly  for 
the  lesson  God  was  teaching  him,  —  waited  not  for  the  still 
small  voice,  after  the  cloud  and  storrn  had  passed  over.  True, 


LliE   IN    A    COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  139 

it  said,  "  Thy  will  be  done ;"  but  with  the  next  breath,  "  Now, 
indeed,  I  cannot  stay  in  Salem."  In  less  than  a  month  from 
this  sad  event,  much  to  the  general  surprise  and  grief  of  his 
people,  he  received  and  accepted  a  call  to  Millville. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

"  0  love  !  thou  hast  a  noble  throne, 

In  bosoms  where  thy  life-light  falls  ; 
So  warm  and  wide  that  they  have  sighed 
At  leaving  even  household  walls." 

A  GARDENER,  wishing  to  construct  a  new  trellis  for  a  favorite 
vine,  took  the  opportunity  after  fruit-gathering  to  disengage  it 
from  the  old  frame,  and  substitute  the  new.  But  the  work,  he 
found,  required  more  time  and  patience  than  he  had  provided 
for ;  —  the  branches  more  closely  interlaced  the  paling,  the  ten 
drils  clung  with  a  more  tenacious  grasp,  and  the  points  of  con 
tact,  which  had  looked  so  few,  seemed  numberless.  When,  at 
length,  the  work  was  completed,  many  a  leaf  was  lying  on  the 
ground,  many  a  tendril  torn  and  drooping,  and  here  and  there  a 
branch  broken. 

So,  often,  in  the  disruption  of  our  social  ties,  the  actual 
experience  overruns  our  calculation.  This  point  had  often 
been  revolved  at  the  Salem  parsonage :  "  Would  it  be 
hard  to  leave,  and  seek  a  new  home  among  strangers  ? "  At 
such  times,  Mary  was  wont  to  say,  "  The  trial  will  1x3  greater 
for  you,  Edward,  than  for  me.  The  people  have  never  loved 
me  as  they  do  you.  Entering  first,  you  had  the  advantage. 
If  we  go  to  a  new  place,  we  shall  start  iair."  In  a  hasty  Ict- 
tei  to  sister  Harriet,  written  amid  the  preparations  for  depart- 
ure,  she  says : 

"  I  find  myself  very  strongly  attached  to  this  people  ;  and 
I  believe  many  of  them  are  to  me.  My  Sabbath-school  class  u 


140  THE   SHADY    SIDE  J     OR, 

very  precious ;  the  praying  circle  too.  It  will  take  me  long  to 
feel  at  home  in  another.  Many  families  have  shown  us  only 
kindnesses,  and  those  not  a  few,  —  Mrs.  Coleman,  Mrs.  Cramp- 
ton,  and  Mrs.  Cook.  0  !  what  do  you  think  of  aunt  Rachel  ? 
—  she  wants  to  go  too,  live  with  us,  and  make  us  her  heirs. 
The  Lewises  have  always  treated  me  coolly,  and  Mrs.  Pritchard 
never  liked  me.  She  is  a  woman  of  many  good  qualities,  and 
a  natural  ally  of  a  minister's  wife.  I  did  not  take  the  right 
course  with  her.  I  see,  now,  that  I  might  have  conciliated  her 
regard.  I  am  sorry  to  leave  our  new  friend,  sweet  Julia 
Rogers.  Little  Abby  will  miss  her  sadly.  The  circle  of  young 
men,  too,  have  been  very  polite  to  me.  They  love  Edward 
very  much,  and  it  is  whispered  that  they  are  designing  to  make 
us  a  parting  gift.  The  thought  of  it  makes  rny  eyes  overflow. 
I  hope  it  will  not  .affect  Edward  as  did  a  little  occurrence  on 
his  return  from  Millville.  No  one  here  knew  the  cause  of  his 
absence.  He  had  been  aVay  several  times  before,  —  to  see 
his  father  twice.  Mr.  Cook  saluted  him,  and,  putting  a  five- 
dollar  note  in  his  hand,  said,  '  There  's  a  little  to  help  pay  your 
travelling  expenses.  It  costs  something  to  journey  about,  as 
you  have  done  lately,  and  you  must  have  to  calculate  pretty 
close  to  support  your  family  and  pay  for  the  house.'  Edward 
could  not  decline  it;  but  he  came  home  distressed,  saying,  'How 
can  I  have  it  in  my  heart  to  leave  such  a  people  ?  Anything 
but  this ;  —  to  be  killed  with  kindness  ! ' 

"  0,  there  are  many,  many  pleasant  things  here,  though,  it  is 
true,  there  have  been  some  sad  changes !  Bessie  Crampton  is 
married,  and  gone.  Our  dear,  lost  Carrie,  too,  we  must  always 
miss.  If  her  father  felt  as  he  used  to  feel,  —  if  our  good  Dea 
con  Ely  were  alive,  —  I  believe  this  step  would  not  be  taken. 
But  God  knows  what  is  best,  and  we  have  tried  to  commit  our 
way  to  him.  Dr.  Alden  says,  some  men  consult  Providence  as 
the  ancients  did  their  oracles,  making  their  own  wishes  their 
interpreter.  I  suppose  he  meant  this  for  us  ;  but  I  trust  it  ia 
not  applicable.  I  know  he  thinks  we  ought  not  to  leave.  He 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  141 

has  been  very  kind  to  us,  never  making  any  charge  for  his 
services. 

"  I  intend  to  stop  at  home,  for  a  good  visit,  on  our  way  to 
our  new  residence.  We  shall  be  almost  as  near  you  there  as 
here,  only  in  an  opposite  direction.  Ann  would  have  deferred 
her  marriage  some  time,  had  we  remained  here.  As  it  is,  she 
will  not  go  to  Millville,  and  I  must  have  the  trial  of  new  help, 
among  a  strange  people.  With  your  philosophy,  you  would 
think  this  a  small  matter.  Ah  me  !  my  heart  will  look  anxiously 
into  the  future ;  and  I  find  myself  clinging  to  these  last  days 
here,  as  a  child  to  its  mother's  neck. 

"  My  love  and  duty  to  dear  papa.  I  am  so  glad  he  thinks 
it  best  for  us  to  go !  though  Edward  looks  a  little  serious  upon 
hearing  the  reasons.  /  do  not  think  he  aspires  after  a  higher 
place,  or  would  be  discontented  here,  if  no  one  felt  unjustly 
toward  him.  At  any  rate,  the  severance  is  painful  to  him ;  — 
more  so  than  either  of  us  anticipated." 

Mr.  Vernon  had  preached  but  a  single  Sabbath  at  Millville. 
He  felt  the  inspiration  of  a  crowded,  admiring  auditory.  He 
was  heard  with  a  rapt  attention,  that  always  comes  like  a  breath 
of  incense  to  a  speaker's  heart.  He  stopped  a  day  or  two,  and 
gave  a  temperance  lecture  to  a  large  and  popular  assembly, 
who  scarce  forbore  to  testify  their  interest  by  acclamation. 

"  0,  popular  applause  !  what  heart  of  man 
Is  proof  against  thy  sweet,  seducing  charms  1 " 

Mr.  Vernon  returned  to  Salem,  with  an  unwonted  elas 
ticity  of  mind  and  body.  Mary  had  not  seen  his  eye  so 
sparkling,  or  his  step  so  buoyant,  for  many  a  month.  But 
after  his  call  was  received,  and  accepted,  —  after  his  brethren 
had  met  in  council,  and  dissolved  his  pastoral  relation,  —  when 
he  sat  down,  in  his  quiet  study,  to  pen  his  farewell  sermon, 
his  feelings  experienced  a  quick  and  powerful  reaction.  The 
last  sermon  !  0,  how  much  is  in  that  word,,  the  last  ! 
There,  too,  was  the  lust  prayer-meeting ;  —  not  the  promis 
cuous  weekly  conference,  but  what  at  first  was  called  "  The 
Young  Convert's  Meeting."  This  was  a  little  band  of  praying 


142  THE   SHADY   SIDE ;     OR. 

men,  ten  or  twelve  in  number,  who  had  met  every  week  sine* 
the  late  revival,  —  most  of  them  fruits  of  the  first  work  of  grace 
under  Mr.  Vernon's  ministry.  By  social  prayer  and  a  free 
comparison  of  personal  experiences,  they  carried  out  the  mu 
tual-assistance  principle  of  primitive  times.  They  knew  one 
another's  heart-trials ;  they  noted  one  another's  progress  in  the 
Christian  life  ;  they  enjoyed  and  exemplified  the  fellowship  of 
saints.  Very  precious  was  this  communion  to  the  pastor.  How 
could  the  last  interview  be  otherwise  than  affecting  ?  While 
all  avoided,  as  a  contraband  theme,  the  subject  of  the  approach 
ing  separation,  there  was  a  subdued  tenderness  that  showed  this 
to  be  the  burden  of  their  thoughts.  They  went  out,  at  the 
close,  in  silence,  —  all  but  our  West-woods  friend,  Mr.  Den 
nis.  He  planted  himself  firmly  in  the  door,  seizing  the  pas 
tor's  hand  as  he  approached,  with  the  exclamation,  "  I  a'nrt  no 
way  reconciled  to  this.  I  hope  it  a'n't  wicked  ;  but,  if  't  is,  1 
can't  help  it.  Bless  me !  WThat  would  Deacon  Ely  ha'  said 
to  this  ?  It 's  well  he  's  gone  afore,  for  you  was  jes'  like  the 
apple  of  his  eye." 

Mr.  Vernon  made  an  effort  at  self-control,  and  said, "  It  is  not 
good,  Mr.  Dennis,  to  lean  too  closely  upon  a  fellow-creature." 

"  I  know  it,  sir ;  but  a'n't  there  some  excuse  for  a  poor 
critter  like  me,  that  you  "ve  nourished  as  gently  as  a  nurse 
her  young  ?  There  's  a  text  som'wher's  about  the  strong  staff 
and  beautiful  rod,  that  keeps  a  comin'  to  my  mind  ever  sin'  the 
ministers  untied  the  knot  between  us ;"  and  he  drew  the  back 
of  his  rough  hand  across  his  eyes.  Both  were  silent,  —  the 
pastor  revolving  words  of  comfort ;  but  Mr.  Dennis  rallied. 
"  They  say  you  never  would  ha'  gone,  but  for  Mr.  Wood. 
He  's  a  man  whose  religion  never  done  me  much  good,  no 
how  !  " 

"  Take  care,  brother  Dennis ;  I  cannot  have  you  talk  like 
that !  "  But  the  warm-hearted  man  had  found  a  vent  for  his 
overcharged  feelings  in  indignation  at  Mr.  Wood ;  and  he  went 


LUK    IN    A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  143 

off  the  steps,  muttering,  "  I  don'no  but  he  's  got  grace ;   but 
he  's  allers  been  a  stiff-sot  man  —  dread/idly  stiff-sot." 

The  next  morning,  as  Edward  left  the  little  back  parlor, 
after  prayers,  he  turned  back,  and  said  to  Mary,  abruptly. 
"  My  dear,  I  cannot  bear  scenes.  A  few  more  like  the  one 
last  night  will  quite  unman  me.  Our  parting  calls  must  bo 
few  and  brief." 

"  We  must  visit,  you  know,  at  Mrs.  Ely's  to-morrow." 

"  Yes,  now  that  we  have  promised  ;  but  I  regret  the  engage 
ment.  We  will  take  that  opportunity  to  ride  beyond  to  '  lloar- 
ing-brook,'  and  bid  old  Mrs.  Harrison  good-by." 

Mary  sighed.  She  knew  how  tenderly  the  aged  blind 
woman  loved  them  both. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  sorrowful  leave-taking.  She  held  on  to 
her  young  pastor's  arm  with-  both  her  withered  hands.  "  I  did 
not  expect,"  said  she,  "  that  you  would  spend  your  ministry  in 
Salem ;  but  I  did  hope  you  might  stay  while  my  few  sands  hold 
out."  Then  she  thanked  him  for  all  his  kindness,  and  asked 
him  to  pray  once  more  with  her;  and  when,  with  husky  voice, 
the  prayer  was  offered,  and  he  gave  her  the  parting  hand,  she 
held  it  till  she  found  words  for  a  last  request :  *'  Is  it  too 
much  to  ask  that,  when  I  die,  you  will  come  to  lay.  me  in  the 
grave,  and  preach  my  funeral  sermon  ?  " 

"  If  I  outlive  you,  and  it  is  possible,"  he  replied. 

Mary  kissed  her  tenderly,  and  said,  "  We  will  not  call  this 
a  final  good-by.  We  hope  to  return  in  a  year,  and  visit  among 
the  people." 

"  Ah,"  said  the  venerable  matron,  "  I  doubt  not  you  will 
come,  and  your  voice  will  sound  as  sweetly  as  it  does  to-day  ; 
but  I  shall  not  be  here  to  listen.  Perhaps  I  may  look  down 
and  see  you  then,  —  a  privilege  I  am  now  denied.  Farewell ! 
The  Lord  bless  you  evermore." 

They  rode  back  to  Mrs.  Ely's,  and  it  was  more   than  her 
equanimity  could  do  to  tranquillize  her  guests.     She  was  calm 
though  sorrowful,  the  silent  tears  taking  care  of  themselves 


144  THE   SHADY   SIDE;     OR, 

without  choking  her  voice,  or  diverting  her  hands  from  the 
rites  of  hospitality.  Olivia  —  poor  girl !  —  not  much  could  be 
expected  of  her  but  busy  thought  and  agitated  feeling.  Mr. 
Vernon'could  talk  only  with  "  the  boys,"  and  upon  indifferent 
topics,  so  that  little  was  accomplished  by  the  visit ;  and  they 
left,  accepting  Leevy's  offer,  in  broken  words,  of  help  about 
the  packing,  and  promising  to  ride  over  again  after  the  Sabbath. 

But  why  linger  further  over  these  parting  scenes,  —  scenes 
too  experimentally  familiar  to  many  a  reader  of  this  simple 
history  ?  How  many  a  pastor,  who,  for  slight  cause,  left  his 
flock,  has  confessed,  with  a  sigh,  "  I  did  not  imagine  what  this 
dismission  would  cost  my  sensibilities  !  "  And  how  often  has 
the  counterpart  been  uttered,  "  We  never  knew  till  now  how 
much  we  loved  our  minister  !  "  Blessed  bond,  of  Heaven's  own 
creating!  Alas  !  that  it  should  be  ever  trifled  with,  —  that  it 
should  be  lightly  held,  or  rudely  severed. 

The  Sabbath,  with  its  solemn  assembly  and  tearful  wayside 
groups,  has  passed.  The  last  calls  have  been  hurried  through  ; 
the  goods  and  chattels  of  the  parsonage  loaded  for  the  morrow's 
transportation ;  the  denuded  dwelling  left  without  light  or 
sound,  and  its  inmates,  worn  and  heartfull,  are  partaking  the 
hospitality  of  Mrs.  Cook,  at  the  old  boarding-place.  The  sup 
per  finished,  and  little  Abby  put  to  sleep  in  the  very  chamber 
that  was  Edward's  bachelor  sanctum,  Mary  put  a  shawl  over 
her  head,  and,  taking  Julia  Bogers'  hand,  strolled  down,  in  the 
moonlight,  to  the  deserted  home.  How  beautiful  it  looked  to 
her,  now  that  she  was  leaving  it !  How  vividly  she  recalled 
her  entrance  hither !  How  dear,  as  her  first  married  home, 
the  birth-place  of  her  child  !  They  went  into  the  garden, 
where  the  late  flowers  were  just  in  bloom  ;  and,  as  Julia  gath 
ered  a  choice  boquet,  Mary  stood  in  a  reverie,  wondering  whose 
hands  would  next  lay  out  the  garden  walks,  and  train  the  roses 
she  had  planted.  A  heavy  dew  was  falling,  and  she  must  not 
linger. 

Once  more  in  the  street.     The  house  opposite  stands  in  tho 


UFE   IN    A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  145 

shadow,  still  and  cold ;  the  shutters  closed,  and  a  dim  light 
gleaming  through  the  kitchen  window.  The  full  rnoou  is  yet  low 
in  the  east,  and  its  slant  rays  fall  across  the  green,  and  through 
the  church-yard  railing,  and  rest  on  a  pure  white  marble  pillar, 
with  a  rose-bush  at  its  side.  Ah  !  Mary  kens  ftill  well  who 
sleeps  there ;  but  she  may  not  stop  now  for  communion  with 
the  dead.  « 

On  the  morrow,  ere  the  sun  was  up,  from  the  last  point 
whence  the  parsonage  was  visible  from  the  travelled  road,  two 
pairs  of  eyes  looked  eagerly  back  to  the  familiar  spot,  and  a 
voice,  cheerful,  yet  slightly  regretful,  said,  "  I  wonder  if  we 
can  ever  love  another  home  as  well  ?  "  A  manly  voice,  in  a 
hopeful  tone,  responded,  "  It  is  home  wherever  the  heart  is;" 
while  a  sweet  birdie  caught  the  note,  and  echoed,  "  Home,  — 
home,  with  dear  papa."  Those  hearts  were  strong,  though  ten 
der.  The  lips  were  tremulous  with  adieus  to  the  past,  but  the 
future  was  hailed  with  bright  hopes  and  cheerful  trust 


CHAPTER  XXIT 

"  Minds  altogether  set 
On  trade  and  profit." 

"  Thou  ar-t  not  what  thou  seenist  " 

IT  has  been  often  remarked  that  manufacturing  villages  are 
either  much  better,  or  much  worse,  than  agricultural  commu 
nities.  The  reason  of  this  is  quite  obvious.  In  such-  villages, 
a  few  leading  men  give  tone  to  the  spirit  of  the  place.  Its 
business  principles  and  habits,  its  moral  and  religious  public 
sentiment,  its  educational  privileges,  the  complexion  of  its  dom 
inant  influences,  in  all  departments  of  society,  and,  to  a  great 
extent,  the  individual  character  of  its  population,  are  deter 
mined  by  one  or  two  master-spirits,  the  chief  owners  and  rep- 
13 


146  THE   SIIADY    SIDE  ;     OR, 

resentatives  of  its  commercial  interests.  If  these  are  men  of 
the  right  stamp,  skilful  in  the  conduct  of  business,  far-seeing, 
liberal-minded,  large-hearted,  Christian  men,  the  community 
•which  bears  their  image  and  superscription  is  above  the  ordi 
nary  level  of  communities  gathered  on  a  more  democratic  basis. 
Foundations  are  laid  with  a  wise  regard  to  the  future  and 
higher  interests  of  the  many,  and  the  prosperity  oft  the  cause 
of  Christ.  The  operative  is  regarded  as  something  more  than 
an  available  machine  for  enlarging  the  income  of  the  employer. 
His  individuality  is  not  lost  sight  of  and  absorbed  in  "  the  con 
cern."  He  is  a  man,  responsible  and  accountable,  with  sacred 
rights,  entitled  to  the  privilege  of  an  open  path  Jx>  competence 
and  honor.  Religious  institutions  and  educational  facilities  are 
provided,  — not  with  the  least  possible  expense,  as  nominal  ap 
pendages  to  a  civilized  community,  but  upon  a  liberal  policy,  as 
centres  of  interest  and  influence,  around  which  everything  else 
is  to  revolve.  Here  and  there,  throughout  our  beautiful  New 
England,  may  be  found  some  model  villages  answering  to  this 
description. 

The  other  extreme  is,  however,  the  most  common  ;  —  crowded 
settlements,  gathered  by  the  capitalist,  whose  end  and  aim  is  to 
make  his  own  fortune,  whatever  interests  are  sacrificed  in  the 
process.  These  are  the  places  where  the  largest  amount  of 
labor  is  performed  at  the  lowest  wages,  —  where  the  operatives 
are  selected  wholly  for  what  they  may  avail  to  swell  the  gains 
of  the  employer, —  where  the  rudely-constructed  "boarding- 
house  "  is  densely  packed  with  a  heterogeneous  mass  of  human 
ity,  —  where  trade  is  monopolized,  and  the  price  of  living  ia 
high,  —  where  there  is  poor  encouragement  for  frugality  and 
thrift,  and  every  facility  for  reckless  expenditure,  —  where  con 
gregated  iniquity  flourishes  as  in  a  hot-bed,  —  where  common 
schools  are  low,  and  the  pulpit  stands  by  sufferance,  or  both  are 
sought  to  be  made  subsidiary  to  the  gain  or  aggrandizement  of 
the  manufacturer. 

And  to  which  of  these  classes  belonged  Millville?     Hav« 


LIFE    IN   A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  147 

patience,  gentle  reader,  if  the  reply  be,  "  Not  quite  to  either." 
It  surely  was  fur  from  corresponding  with  the  former ;  the  law 
yers  would  pronounce  it  libellous  to  class  it  with  the  latter. 

Millville  was,  at  this  time,  a  village  of  five  years'  growth,  —  a 
reclaimed  marsh  between  the  hills,  with  a  stream  on  either  side, 
whose  tortuous  course  would  seem  to  indicate  some  early  pre 
science  of  their  destined  use,  which  led  them  to  go  much  out 
of  their  way,  and  take  sundry  dangerous  leaps  for  the  benefit 
of  the  future  lords  of  the  soil.  The  discoverers  of  this  rare 
group  of  water-privileges  blessed  their  guiding  star,  and  mar 
velled  at  the  stupidity  that  had  left  them  so  long  overlooked 
and  unimproved.  Streams  that  were  never  dry !  Waterfalls 
and  millseats  on  every  hand  !  Golden  visions  rose,  that  for 
once,  at  least,  were  destined  to  be  "  not  all  a  dream." 

Five  years  —  and  what  changes  !  The  quiet  old  town,  half 
a  league  distant  on  the  other  side  of  the  western  hill,  could 
hardly  believe  her  eyes,  or  recognize  this  waste  tract  of  her 
ancient  domain.  A  woollen  factory  and  cotton-mill  stand  on 
the  twin  streams  at  their  nearest  point  of  proximity,  while 
beyond  them,  on  either  side,  rise  the  massive  foundery  and  the 
paper-mill.  The  bogs,  drained  and  filled  with  gravel  from  the 
hills,  assume  the  form  of  respectable  terra  firma,  across  which 
one  street  only  deserves  the  name  of  "  straight,"  —  the  other 
two  conforming  somewhat  to  the  sinuosities  of  the  stream.  In 
the  centre  of  the  village,  erected  before  building-lots  were  at  a 
premium,  with  comfortable  elbow-room,  stands  the  oldest 
church  edifice,  its  tall  spire  struggling  up  between  the  hills, 
in  vain  effort  to  see  or  be  seen  at  a  distance.  Two  other  Chris 
tian  temples,  of  later  date,  are  wedged  in  with  a  row  of  shops 
and  warehouses.  A  few  spacious  dwellings,  and  many  smaller 
ones,  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  hurriedly  erected,  fill  up  the  pic 
ture. 

What  though  the  ground  is  low,  and  never  sees  the  sun  at 
its  rise  or  setting? — what  if  the  frost-king  make  here  his 
earliest  visits,  and  his  last  ?  —  what  though  the  air  is  humid, 


148  THE   SUADY    SIDE;    OR, 

and  unhealthy  vapors  after  nightfall  chill  the  blood  ?  —  h TO 
throbs  the  restless,  busy  heart  of  a  manufacturing  village.  It 
is  a  stirring,  thriving  place.  All  kinds  of  people  are  wan  to  1 
here,  and  it  has  attractions  for  all. 

The  business  of  the  place  was  mainly  in  the  hands  of  threo 
principal  proprietors,  —  men  whose  policy  nicely  harmonized, 
and  who  monopolized  the  village  trade  at  their  respective  estab 
lishments,  all  giving  their  operatives  "  store  pay,"  at  high 
prices.  If  there  were  any  villagers  who  were  not  producers, 
or  whose  interests  were  not  in  some  way  involved  with  the  fac 
tories,  disposed  to  murmur  at  the  price  of  merchandise,  thera 
was  no  remedy  but  a  journey  of  some  distance  to  a  town  where 
competition  made  prices  equitable. 

The  three  moneyed  men  aforesaid  held  a  nominal  connection 
with  the  Christian  church ;  but  so  absorbed  were  they  in  their 
worldly  schemes,  that  it  was  sometimes  difficult  to  tell  whether 
they  served  God  or  mammon.  They  had  too  much  conscience, 
ay,  and  too  much  regard  to  their  business  interests,  not  to 
support  the  institutions  of  the  gospel ;  but  there  was  about 
their  own  example  little  savor  of  practical  godliness.  They 
were  shrewd,  cool,  worldly-wise  men.  They  wanted  a  hand 
somely-furnished  church,  and  a  talented  minister,  and  were 
willing  to  offer  a  nominally  generous  salary.  This  done,  they 
felt  at  liberty  to  put  him  under  the  screw,  as  they  would  any 
other  operative  in  their  pay ;  —  that  was  all  in  the  way  of  busi 
ness. 

Mr.  Smith,  their  first  pastor,  began  the  enterprise  of  build 
ing  up  a  congregation.  He  was  indefatigable,  and  worked  hard, 
and  was  quite  -successful ;  but  they  soon  outgrew  him,  and  he 
must  give  place  to  a  more  popular  man.  They  were  "  a  grow 
ing  people,"  and  they  made  large  calculations.  "  They  should 
noon  have  a  railway,  and  they  meant  to  have  a  bank ;  and  in 
half-a-dozen  years  they  would  become  a  borough ;  and  some 
ten  years  thereafter  they  might  be  a  city.  Other  sects  were 
towering  up  among  them  ;  it  was  really  important  to  get  a 


LIFE   IN    A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  149 

smart  man  as  Mr.  Smith's  successor."  So  they  ran  to  and  fro, 
and  sent  for  many  a  theologue ;  but  none  who  came  at  their 
call  had,  in  their  estimation,  sufficient  "  pile  of  forehead"  to 
match  their  diadem.  At  length  they  borrowed  a  new  city 
notion,  and  despatched  a  delegation  to  sit  under  one  and  another 
unsuspecting  pulpit. 

Their  report  from  Salem  was  so  glowing,  that  a  resolution 
was  passed,  at  once,  authorizing  the  committee  to  make  a  state 
ment  to  Mr.  Vernon,  and  invite  him  to  preach  a  Sabbath  in 
Millville.  This  was  met  by  a  declinature,  made  in  all  sincerity, 
which  served  only  to  strengthen  desire  on  the  part  of  the 
applicants.  They  kept  their  eye  on  the  Salem  minister,  and, 
when  circumstances  seemed  more  favorable,  renewed  the  re 
quest.  He  came,  as  we  have  seen,  and  the  waves  of  popular 
approval  ran  high ;  and  definite  proposals  for  settlement  were 
made  with  speed.  The  chairman  of  the  committee,  Mr.  Moul- 
ton,  was  a  shrewd,  plausible  man.  He  talked  largely  and 
fluently  of  the  prosperous  condition  of  Millville.  He  pointed 
to  the  extensive  business  of  the  place,  to  his  foundery  in  particu 
lar,  —  the  largest  establishment  of  the  ku>d  in  New  England. 
He  pointed  to  their  handsome  church  and  parsonage,  asserting 
tlrit  in  the  last  two  years  they  had  built  the  latter  and  fur 
nished  the  former,  in  addition  to  the  purchase  of  a  fine-  bell. 
He  spoke  of  their  liberal  appropriation  for  sacred  music  the 
previous  winter.  And  as  to  the  salary,-1— tfiey  knew  what  it 
cost  to  live ;  they  wanted  their  minister  to  live  handsomely ; 
they  would  give  seven  hundred  dollars  now,  and  doubted  not 
they  would  be  able  to  increase  the  sum,  after  another  year  or 
two,  as  they  were  "  a  growing  people."  To  be  sure,  house-rent 
was  rather  high ;  they  should  be  obliged  to  ask  a  hundred  for 
the  parsonage ;  but  they  got  up  splendid  donation  parties  here, 
which  would  nearly  counterbalance  this  deduction. 

These  flattering  items,  which  were  received  as  sober  verity, 
we  will  bear  in  mind,  as  we  shall  have  occasion  to  refer  to  thena 
hereafter. 

13* 


150  THE   SHADY    SIDE;  OU, 

The  prospect  looked  bright  to  the  young  minister ;  the  plea*, 
ing  exterior  caught  his  fancy ;  he  accepted  "  the  call."  Had 
he  known  that  it  was  the  mere  outside  of  the  parish  he  haa 
seen,  and  that  the  most  imposing,  —  had  he  been  told  that  he 
had  not  caught  the  first  truthful  glimpse  of  its  interior  life  in 
its  relations  to  the  pastorate,  -  —  he  would  have  hesitated  long  to 
leave  an  intelligent,  reliable  and  confiding  people,  for  the  osten 
tatious,  slippery,  fickle  parish  of  Millville. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

"  Is  it  true,  think  you  1 " 

"  Very  true.     AVhy  should  I  carry  lies  abroad  7 

MR.  VERNON'S  second  installation  is  over,  and  his  family 
settled,  as  far  as  may  be  at  present,  in  the  parsonage.  Let  us 
look  a  little  into  his  pecuniary  affairs,  and  see  how  they  stand 
at  this  era  in  his  history.  It  is  nearly  three  years  since  he 
purchased  his  house  in  Salem.  He  has  been  able,  as  he  ex 
pected,  to  pay  thr  interest  on  his  borrowed  money,  and  reduce 
the  principal  a  hundred  dollars  yearly.  But  he  is  disappointed 
now  in  not  finding  a  purchaser.  The  society  will  not  take  it  as 
a  parsonage,  till  they  settle  another  minister,  and  this  they 
seem  not  likely  to  do  in  a  hurry.  There  is  no  opportunity  to 
rent  it  at'  present.  So  it  stands  solitary,  and  the  door-key 
hangs  over  Mr.  Cook's  kitchen  mantel,  —  sad  reminder  there, 
calling  forth  many  a  burst  of  homely  eloquence  in  pathetic 
lamentation. 

Black  Pompey  has  gone  with  his  master  to  Millville ;  a 
noble  animal,  truly,  and  a  noble  price  it  will  cost  to  keep  him 
there,  as  his  owner  will  find,  when  he  gets  his  eyes  open. 

The  expense  of  the  transfer  of  household  stuff  has  somewhat 
overrun  previous  calculation.  Several  new  pieces  of  furniture 
have  been  purchased*and  the  well-filled  purse,  which  was  to  bo 


LIFE    IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  151 

responsible  tor  the  living  of  the  first  quarter,  is  (to  begin  with) 
nearly  empty.  But  Mr.  Vernon  anticipates  no  serious  trouble; 
he  can  borrow,  or  live  on  credit  awhile ;  his  salary  must  be 
ample  enough  to  cancel  all  his  obligations  at  the  year's  end.  IIu 
was  sorry*on  the  whole,  that  he  had  not  insisted  on  a  quarterly 
or  semi-annual  payment.  He  did  mention  it  as  desirable  ;  but 
the  reply  was,  "  It  is  not  best  to  bring  up  the^  thing  in  form 
before  the  society  ;  there  will  be  no  difficulty  about  it.  Call  on 
our  treasurer  for  money,  whenever  you  want  it."  It  did  not 
occur  to  him  that  he  might  call  on  an  empty  treasury. 

Not  many  hours  after  he  entered  the  parsonage,  Mr.  Moullon 
appeared,  with  his  smiling  face  and  smooth  address.  His  wife 
had  sent  a  basket  of  provisions,  and  he  called  to  say  that  he 
had  a  good  assortment  of  groceries  at  the  brick  store,  and  would 
be  happy  to  open  an  account  with  Mr.  Vernon ;  and,  as  the  lat 
ter  bowed,  and  said  he  should  need  articles  in  that  line,  and 
would  remember  it,  Mr.  M.,  in  the  most  natural  way,  took  a 
pencil  and  card  from  his  pocket,  adding,  "  You  have  a  good 
many  steps  to  take  sir,  — just  give  me  a  list  of  what  you  want, 
and  I  will  step  round  to  the  store,  put  them  up,  and  send  my 
man  over  with  them."  He  then  proceeded  to  enumerate,  "  tea: 
sugar,  coffee,"  Mr.  Yernon  assenting  (all  the  while,  unpacking 
a  box  of  goods),  till  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  list  was  swell 
ing,  and  he  said,  abruptly,  "  Nothing  more,  Mr.  Moulton  ;  what 
you  have  will  make  something  of  a  bill."  The  merchant 
bowed  in  his  most  gentlemanly  way,  and  responded,  "  Give 
yourself  no  trouble  about  that;  our  firm  (Moulton  &  Son)  is 
one  of  the  largest  supporters.  Let  the  account  run  through 
the  year,  and  we  will  make  a  set-off.  Anything  you  want  in  our 
line,  we  shall  be  happy  to  furnish  you.'' 

A  little  after,  the  corpulent  Mr.  Elton  came  puffing  in,  on 
tli.'  si  me  errand,  and,  learning  what  had  taken  place,  said, 
gooJ-huiuorally,  "  You  must  divide  your  patronage  among  us, 
Mr.  Vernon." 

In  the  course  of  the  same  day,  the  thin,  sharp  visage  of  Mi 


J.02  THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OR, 

Walter  (proprietor  of  the  cotton  mill),  was  seen  peering  roui.J 
the  parsonage.  He  was  a  man  of  few  compliments,  who  looked, 
with  eagle  eye,  at  any  chance  of  gain.  He  coolly  asked  the 
cost  of  every  new  article  he  saw  ;  said  he  kept  some  "  furnish 
ing  goods,"  at  his  warehouse,  —  among  other  things,  a  lot  of 
cooking-stoves,  and  materials  for  upholstery ;  and  he  added,  sig 
nificantly,  "  I  suppose  you  will  give  the  preference,  in  trade,  to 
your  own  people." 

"  A  new  state  of  things  this,  to  me,"  said  Edward,  thought 
fully  ;  as,  before  the  week  was  through,  he  received  offers  of 
hay,  wood,  butter,  lard  and  vegetables ;  in  which  cases,  when 
he  spoke  of  payment,  the  reply  invariably  was,  "  We  shall  be 
owing  the  society ;  if  you  will  give  us  an  order  we  would  like 
to  turn  it."  No  matter  if  his  purse  were  low  ;  what  need  of 
ready  money  in  so  obliging  a  community  ? 

A  letter  of  Mrs.  Vernon's,  at  this  time,  admits  us  to  her 
first  impressions  of  the  place  and  people. 

"  MY  DEAR  FATHER,  — 

"  I  know  you  must  have  waited  anxiously  for  something  more 
from  us  than  the  hurried  note,  informing  you  of  our  safe 
arrival.  Days  since  then  have  come  and  gone,  and  I  have 
not  found  myself  adequate  to  all  the  demands  upon  my  time 
and  strength.  It  is  well  you  decided  for  me  that  I  should 
not  come  till  after  the  installation ;  the  excitement  now  is 
more  than  you  would  judge  altogether  best  for  me. 

"  Our  house-keeping  arrangements  have  been  greatly  retarded. 
The  parsonage,  during  the  ten  months'  interregnum,  was  rented 
to  a  family  not  over-nice  in  their  habits.  They  left  only  a 
fortnight  before  our  arrival ;  then  the  house  was  to  be  purified, 
some  painting  and  papering  done,  and  outside  blinds  put  up. 
Three  days  before  we  came  they  commenced  operations,  and  a 
tedious  business  they  make  of  it.  The  paint  in  the  parlorg 
was  too  fresh  to  allow  us  to  furnish ;  the  paper  in  the  back 
parlor  did  not  hold  out,  and  nothing  could  be  done  there  till 


LIFE   IN    A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  153 

they  could  send  to  the  city  for  more.  The  protracted  process 
of  putting  on  the  blinds  added  to  the  confusion.  We  had  to 
niaki!  ourselves  comfortable  in  the  kitchen,  and  unpack  our 
goods  slowly  as  places  were  ready  for  them.  The  scene  was 
varied  by  frequent  calls  from  the  people,  evidently  curious  to 
get  an  idea  of  the  minister's  family ;  besides  two  or  three  invi 
tations  to  tea,  at  gatherings  made  specially  for  us,  which  we 
declined  as  unseasonable, — thereby  incurring,  I  fear,  the  dis 
pleasure  of  one  aristocratic  lady.  I  summoned  Patience  to  my 
side,  and  walked  with  her,  feeling,  however,  that  something 
must  be  lacking  in  the  parish,  or  the  place  would  have  'been 
ready  for  our  reception.  Nor  was  I  at  all  consoled  by  the 
remark,  that  fell  from  the  lips  of  more  than  one  who  called 
1  This  is  always  the  way  of  things  in  Millville.' 

"  Sunday,  I  went  out  to  one  service ;  but  I  should  not  dare 
write  you  all  I  felt  on  the  occasion.  The  congregation  had  a 
fashionable  air,  and  were  quite  attentive.  There  was  on  every 
hand  a  brusque  air  of  expectation,  as  if  they  had  come  to  be 
entertained,  rather  than  profited.  They  evidently  admired  the 
preacher,  and  were  interested  in  the  preachment ;  but  I  missed, 
—  O,  how  sadly !  —  the  spiritual  atmosphere  of  our  Sabbath 
assemblies  at  Salem.  I  may  misjudge ;  but  no,  —  this  is  a 
thing  not  to  be  observed,  but  felt ;  the  heart  detects  it  uner 
ringly.  I  have  not  been  home-sick,  except  in  church.  There 
my  heart  ached,  and  it  was  only  by  isolating  my  thoughts  from 
the  scene,  and  fleeing  as  a  bird  to  her  mountain,  that  I  found 
peace. 

"  You  will  expect  to  hear  my  first  impressions  of  this  goodly 
village.  Let  me  tell  you,  then,  of  two  or  three  things  that 
struck  me  at  once. 

"  One  was,  a  sense  of  imprisonment ;  shut  in,  environed  round 
with  hills,  we  seem  to  be  down  in  the  depths,  —  not  exactly  in 
tte  '  valley  of  humiliation,'  but  low  enough  for  that.  I  fel* 
at  first  as  if  I  could  breathe  freer  up  on  the  heights. 

"  Another  thing  was,  that  people  live  faster  here  than  in  any 


154  THE    SHADY    SIDE;     OE, 

place  I  have  known.  Everything  moves  with  speei ;  every 
body  is  in  a  hurry.  The  nights  are  short.  The  musical  beli 
of  the  cotton-mill  fulls  on  our  drowsy  ear  at  daybreak  ;  then 
rings  out  the  ponderous  stroke  of  the  foundery,  and  the  others 
follow  in  quick  succession.  The  streets  presently  swarm  with 
the  operatives  hurrying  to  their  toil,  —  men  and  women,  youth 
and  children.  Six  times  a  day  this  throng  sweeps  back  and 
forth.  So  much  noise  and  bustle  is  strangely  disagreeable ; 
though  I  must  confess  to  an  impulse  from  the  life  and  enterprise 
around  me.  Even  this  poor  quill  must  have  been  '  grown ' 
hereabouts,  for  it  dashes  on  at  a  pace  which  sorely  tires  the 
hand  that  holds  it. 

"  Little  Abby,  as  grandpa'  predicted,  behaves  finely  among 
strangers.  It  is  well  she  is  not  a  child  to  be  easily  spoiled  by 
flattery.  I  foresee  her  dear  papa  will  wish  he  had  more  of -the 
same  humility  and  simplicity.  The  people  shower  him  with 
compliments,  the  tone  of  which  I  do  not  relish.  He  says  it  ia 
not  delicate  enough  to  hurt  him.  It  seems  to  me  that  they 
praise  him,  as  they  do  their  wares,  because  he  is  theirs.  It  is 
'our  Mr.  Vernon,'  and  'our  minister.'  I  fear  the  majority 
think  more  of  his  building  them  up  in  reputation  and  numbers, 
than  in  the  graces  of  the  Spirit.  But  I  must  not  talk  in  this 
way ;  they  are  our  people,  and  I  mean  to  love  them. 

"  In  the  matter  of  '  help,'  I  fear  we  have  not  done  wisely. 
The  woman  is  an  experienced  house-keeper,  but  she  is  acquainted 
with  everybody  here,  and  makes  more  gossip  about  my  domestic 
aflairs,  than  I  could  wish. 

"  We  have  just  received  a  precious  letter  from  brother  Wil 
liam,  which  I  will  enclose.  It  was  directed  to  us  at  Salem. 
How  sad  to  think  he  will  not  know  of  our  change  of  location 
for  three  months  to  come ! 

"  We  hope  to  welcome  you  to  our  new  home  as  soon  as  your 
business  will  allow.  Meanwhile,  and  ever,  you  will  continue, 
dear  father,  to  supplicate  for  us  grace  and  wisdom  from  DO 
high.  We  never  needed  you  prayers  more  than  now.  I  hope 


UJJB   IN  A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  155 

we  have  not  done  wrong  in  coming  here.  I  cannot  feel  at  homo 
yet,  except  at  the  closet  and  family  altar.  Thank  God,  there 
need  be  no  strangeness  there  !  The  said  has  its  sure  abode,  — 
its  familiar  rest. 

"  Love  to  all.     Edward  is  too  busy  to  add  a  line. 

"  Tenderly  yours, 

"  MARY." 

Mary's  intuitive  perception  was  not  at  fault,  when  she  con 
strued  the  people's  praise  of  their  minister  into  self-glorifica 
tion.  The  place  had  risen  so  rapidly  in  the  hands  of  its  found 
ers,  as  to  make  their  heads  a  little  unsteady.  They  were  not 
content  to  stop  here,  and  rest  awhile,  and  settle  anew  their 
foundations.  Full  of  restless  aspirings,  they  wanted,  — they 
knew  not  what,  —  only  something  larger  and  more  magnificent. 
Their  minister  was  a  popular  man,  and  they  relied  on  him  to 
carry  forward  the  religious  end  of  the  enterprise.  The  b)/^'.- 
ness  end,  —  the  heavier,  —  they  were  willing  to  carry  them 
selves. 

Society  here  was  in  its  elements,  —  discordant  ones,  many 
of  them,  with  little  prospect  of  a  speedy  amalgamation. 
Intricate  and  complicated  as  was  the  position  of  these  hetero 
geneous  materials,  Mr.  Yernou  was  not  slow  in  comprehending 
it,  though  it  made  him  feel  like  a  man  overreached  in  a 
bargain. 

The  prominent  business-men  of  the  place  were  respectable, 
church-going  Christians,  —  in  their  seats  on  the  Sabbath ;  finding 
time  even  for  a  temperance  or  lyceum  meeting,  where  their 
minister  was  the  orator ;  and  loud  in  their  hosannas  with  the 
multitude,  while  in  every  humble  effort  they  forsook  him. 
The  social  prayer-meeting  they  habitually  neglected,  and  any 
personal  activities  in  a  religious  way  entirely  eschewed.  If 
called  on  by  an  agent  for  charity,  they  turned  him  o\er  to  tho 
minister ;  tJiey  were  too  busy.  If  a  case  of  humble  suffering 
were  to  be  patiently  relieved,  they  commended  it  to  their  wives 


156-  THE  SHADY  SIDE;  OR, 

A  curious  state  of  things  was  this.  It  would  seem  that  these 
business-men  conceived  of  their  secular  and  their  spiritual  call 
ing  as  two  distinct  interests,  that  would  be  injured  by  contact. 
Therefore,  they  committed  the  latter,  generally,  to  their  pastor ; 
particularly  intrusting  to  their  "better  half"  the  keeping  of 
their  conscience  and  Christian  sensibility  during  business  hours, 
resuming  them  each  Lord's  day  for  purposes  of  devotion.  And, 
very  faithful  were  these  good  women  to  the  trust,  considering 
the  peculiar  nature  of  the  consignment. 

Mrs.  Walter  was  a  woman  of  sunny  face  and  generous  heart 
not  overmuch  refined ;  ready  to  acknowledge  freely  what  her 
husband  ought  to  do,  yet  straitened  in  her  charities  by  his 
penuriousness,  —  bestowing  little  else  than  her  sympathies,  arid 
the  crumbs  that  fell  from  her  table. 

Mrs.  Moulton  was  a  lady  in  every  sense  of  the  word  ;  a  cul 
tivated  Christian  woman  ;  quiet,  warm-hearted,  judicious  ;  the 
constant  friend  of  the  ministry,  the  discriminating  benefactress 
of  the  poor,  ordering  well  her  own  house ;  the  heart  of  her 
husband  safely  trusting  in  her. 

But  Mrs.  Elton  was  decidedly  the  ruling  spirit  of  the  vil 
lage.  She  was  a  woman  of  superior  intellect,  of  quick  discern 
ment,  and  uncommon  activity ;  with  a  religious  experience 
outwardly  of  the  same  type  as  her  husband's  business  habits: 
untiring  and  persevering  in  effort ;  ambitious  for  the  advance 
ment  of  the  Christian  enterprise,  upon  which  she  had  set  her 
heart.  The  movement,  indeed,  owed  its  origin  to  her ;  and  she 
had  kept  her  hand  upon  it,  from  the  formation  of  the  infant 
church,  to  the  selection  of  the  last  piece  of  crimson  drapery  for 
the  pulpit.  True,  it  was  said  of  her  that  she  would  have 
things  her  own  way;  but  what  mattered  it,  so  long  as  hei 
way  was  generally  right?  She  was  a  good  woman,  —  the  main 
stay  of  the  female  prayer-meeting,  and  of  the  various  benevo 
lent  associations.  If  her  piety  abounded  in  externals,  and 
conferred  largely  with  worldly  wisdom,  it  also  wrought  in  her 
soul  much  deep  and  tender  affection.  She  was  the  pastor'a 


L1FJB    III    A    COUNTRY    I'AllSONAOIE.  157 

privy-counsellor  and  aid.  The  shop  hands  called  her  husband 
"  the  general ;"  and,  now  and  then,  a  wag  in  the  village  applied 
the  title  to  her,  as  more  appropriate. 

There,  too,  were  the  Seldens,  —  decided  aristocrats,  living  on 
their  "  interest-money,"  —  proud,  worldly,  exclasive. 

Another  element  ii.  the  religious  community  was  a  class  of 
disciples,  who  —  if  tb.)  term  were  not  too  harsh  —  might  be 
called  fanatics.  They  were  full  of  zeal,  noisy,  and  declama 
tory;  bringing  religious  activity  into  disrepute  by  their  ill- 
timed  and  over-heated  efforts.  • 

Between  this  class,  and  the  men  of  wealth  and  power  who 
stood  at  the  other  extreme,  were  a  few  substantial  farmers,  liv 
ing  in  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  on  the  cultivated  slopes  of 
the  western  hills;  plain  Christian  men,  who  left  Dr.  Mather's 
church  over  the  hill,  to  help  form  the  nucleus  of  a  religious 
community  in  the  village.  True-hearted  and  stable,  they  were, 
perhaps,  the  most  reliable  class  in  the  church.  Such  were 
farmer  Wells  and  Mr.  Norton. 

Then,  there  were  many  small  mechanics,  and  a  host  of  tran 
sient  people,  coming  and  going  with  the  month  or  year ;  and 
the  operatives  in  the  factories,  with  few  local  attachments, 
swayed  hither  apd  thither  by  the  prevailing  current. 

"With  such  a  band  of  brethren  as  he  left  behind  him  in  Salem, 
the  pastor  would  have  girded  himself  for  the  work,  with  a  light 
heart.  But,  as  he  looked  around  for  fellow-laborers,  they  were 
lew  arid  quite  uncongenial.  In  his  natural  allies,  the  deacons, 
he  finds  neither  an  Aaron  nor  a  Hur.  That  office  was  quite 
out  of  the  line  of  any  of  the  dignitaries  of  Millville.  The 
plain  agriculturists  were  too  modest  to  accept  it.  It  was. 
therefore,  given  to  niejn  who  would  take  it. 

When  Mr.  Vernon  became  acquainted  with  his  official  co- 
t<ljutors,  he  was  ready  to  exclaim  with  the  apostle,  —  "Is  it 
jo,  that  there  is  riot  a  wise  man  among  you  ? " 

Deacon  Nobles  was  a  man  of  undoubted  \  ;ety,  but  of  humble 
14 


158  THE   SHADY    SIDE;     OR, 

gifta  ,  illiterate  and  uninformed ;  very  foggy  in  his  views ;  an 
admirer  and  echo  of  Deacon  Slocum. 

Deacon  Sydney  Slocum  was,  by  nature,  a  "  radical ;"  a  man 
of  restless,  active  mind,  pugnacious  temperament,  and  tenacious 
will.  He  was  the  most  active  religionist  in  Millville,  and, 
fortunately,  there  were  but  two  or  three  others  of  the  same 
stamp. 

His  sister,  Mrs.  Rachel  Harris,  was  a  woman  of  similar 
native  qualities,  with  a  larger  admixture  of  grace,  and  a  heart 
alive  to  the  degradation  and  woe  of  her  species.  Both  she  and 
her  brother  were  ardent  agitators  and  reformers  ;  as  such,  their 
good  old  mother  rejoiced  and  gloried  in  them. 

For  a  while  after  Mr.  Vernon's  settlement  all  these  forces 
moved,  or  rather  existed,  without  collision.  He  was  unbound 
edly  popular  at  home,  and  his  name  was  heralded  abroad.  He 
was  fluent  in  debate,  and  the  young  men  had  him  once  or  twice 
in  their  "  Club."  When  a  manly  youth  said  to  him,  enthusi 
astically,  "  You  argued  our  side  of  the  question,  sir,  like  a 
lawyer,"  a  chord  vibrated  to  an  old  and  well-remembered 
touch. 

His  fame  spread  abroad,  and  he  was  asked  to  preach  and 
lecture  far  and  near.  To  decline,  was  to  displease  his  influen 
tial  parishioners,  proud  of  their  minister.  To  meet  all  demands 
he  toiled  harder  than  ever  before.  Twice  he  tried  his  early 
plan  of  extemporizing  in  the  pulpit  at  one  service.  Deacon 
Slocum  was  much  edified ;  but  there  followed  significant  hints, 
from  head-quarters,  that  written  sermons  gave  thabest  satis 
faction.  He  was  not  a  man  to  submit  to  dictation ;  yet,  after 
this,  he  thought  he  should  miss  his  wonted  freedom  of  utterance. 
So,  as  usual,  he  took  for  the  morning  a  manuscript  from  his  old 
stores,  and  prepared  a  fresh  discourse  for  the  afternoon,  —  often 
an  old  theme  carefully  revised  and  elaborated. 

There  were  many  extras  to  prepare  for.  It  was  now  a 
speech  to  the  "  Temperance  Juveniles,"  and  now  an  address 
before  the  Maternal  Association.  To  animate  the  choir  for  the 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  159 

winter's  campaign  of  rehearsals,  the  idea  struck  Mrs.  Elton,  of 
inviting  the  pastor  to  preach  a  sermon  on  sacred  music.  Mrs. 
Harris  thought  it  would  aid  the  work  of  tract  distribution,  if 
Mr.  Vernon  would  look  into  the  mutter,  and  make  a  statement 
to  the  congregation  ;  and  she  gave  him  two  sheets  of  statistics. 

Thus  he  went  from  one  labor  to  another,  at  home  and  abroad, 
performing  an  amount  of  service  that  astonished  himself.  There 
are  two  sets  of  circumstances  in  which  a  man  will  go  beyond 
himself,  and  perform  prodigies.  One,  when  he  is  cut  off  from 
all  human  appreciation  and  aid,  and  thrown  solely  on  the  divine 
arm.  The  other,  when  great  things  are  expected  of  him,  and 
he  is  cheered  at  every  step  by  the  praises  of  those  for  whom  ho 
toils. 

Our  young  minister  was,  indeed,  disgusted  with  much  of  the 
adulation  he  received.  When  he  could  not  exchange  with  his 
very  respectable  and  even  gifted  brethren  in  the  vicinity,  with 
out  being  compelled  to  hear  the  thing  sentimentally  deplored, 
he  was  ashamed  of  his  people,  and  almost  thought  meanly  of 
himself.  When,  on  one  such  occasion,  it  was  reported  to  him 
that  Mr.  Walter  said,  in  the  porch,  "  We  ought  to  have  boot 
to-day  ;"  and,  on  another,  Mrs.  Selden  asked,  contemptuously, 
"  Where  Mr.  Vernon  picked  up  this  man  to  preach  for  us,"  he 
was  truly  indignant. 

Yet,  aside  from  this  fulsome  applause,  was  the  fact  of  his 
popularity,  his  influence.  This,  with  the  consciousness  that 
he  was  earning  it,  was  very  gratifying  to  him.  Thus,  all  that 
winter,  he  toiled  nobly. 

Meanwhile,  how  fares  it  with  our  dear  Mary  ?  Was  she 
quietly  left,  like  the  mistress  of  any  other  family,  to  take  care 
of  her  husband  and  her  house  ?  No,  indeed  !  Was  she  not 
the  pastor's  wife  ?  la  it  not  fit  and  proper  that  she  should 
preside  in  the  Maternal  Association  ?  —  that  she  be  first  direct 
ress  of  the  sewing  circle  ?  —  that  she  take  the  chair  in  the 
Tract  Society  ?  —  that  she  conduct  the  female  prayer-meeting, 
weekly,  at  her  own  house  ?  —  that  she  visit  the  sick,  and  keep 


160  TUE   SHADY    SIDE  J     OR, 

an  open  ear  to  every  tale  of  want  ?  —  that  sno  grace  the  social 
gathering  with  her  presence,  and  be  ready  to  receive  calls  and 
visits  from  any  of  the  hundred  and  twenty  families  represented 
in  the  congregation  ?  As  all  these  claims  urged  themselves 
upon  Mrs.  Vernon,  worn  with  the  fatigue  of  household  cares, 
an  untoward  event  released  her  for  a  while  from  the  busy  round 
upon  which  she  had  entered.  This  was  no  less  than  the  birth 
of  a  son,  quite  in  advance  of  any  expectation  of  his  arrival. 

The  gossips  shook  their  heads,  and  "  feared  we  were  to  have 
another  feeble  minister's  wife  ;  —  this  was  just  the  way  Mrs. 
Smith  went  down."  But,  —  thanks  to  a  kind  Providence  and  a 
good  constitution,  and,  in  part,  to  the  judicious  attentions  of 
Mrs.  Moulton,  —  such  a  calamity  was,  for  the  present,  averted. 
One  thing,  however,  was  unfortunate,  —  the  situation  of  the 
family  was  such,  at  New- Years',  that,  instead  of  the  annual 
gathering,  yclept  a  donation  party,  the  people  were  obliged  to 
send  their  gifts  singly  to  the  parsonage  Mr.  Vernon  made 
an  estimate  of  everything  at  its  maximum,  and  the  aggregate 
value  was  thirty  dollars.  This  fact  he  had  no  intention  to  pro 
claim  publicly  ;  but  Mr.  Walter  felt  no  delicacy  about  a  ques 
tion  of  dollars  and  cents,  and  he,  from  mere  curiosity,  asking  the 
sum,  received  an  unequivocal  answer.  When  this  was  noised 
abroad,  much  chagrin  was  felt  in  the  community.  The  spon 
taneous  cry  was,  "  It  is  too  bad  !  "  Everybody  thought  some 
body  must  be  to  blame.  Mrs.  Walter  ingenuously  confessed, 
that  she  "  told  Walter  't  was  real  mean  in  him  to  carry  so 
little."  Mrs.  Elton  said  the  young  people  should  go  by-and-by 
and  spend  an  evening  at  the  parsonage,  and  make  up  a  purse. 
Mr.  Moulton  took  occasion  to  apologize,  in  his  smooth  way,  and 
explain  that  "  the  thing  was  not  generally  understood  ;  the 
people  were  put  out  of  their  wonted  course,  and  there  was  some 
mistake ;  he  was  confident  the  arrearage  would  be  more  than 
brought  up  another  year."  Mrs.  Moulton  testified  her  regrets 
by  quietly  walking  over  to  the  brick  store,  selecting  the  nicest 


LIFE   IN   A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  161 

piece  of  cotton  shirting,  with  linen  to  match,  and  carrying  it  ou 
her  own  arm  aiross  to  the  parsonage. 

Mrs.  Vernon's  observation  during  her  illness,  made  her  some 
what  distrustful  of  her  "  hired  help."  Miss  Polly,  as  she  waa 
called,  was  a  smart  widow  of  thirty-five  ;  who,  in  one  capacity 
or  another,  had  become  familiar  with  all  the  prominent  families 
of  the  village.  She  was  an  expert  house-keeper,  —  fond  of 
pursuing  her  own  way  without  dictation  or  interference.  Con 
fined  for  weeks  to  her  own  room,  Mrs.  Yernon  noticed,  with 
some  uneasiness,  that  a  majority  of  the  ladies  (?)  who  called  on 
her,  desired  to  step  into  the  kitchen  a  moment  and  see  "  Miss 
Polly  ;"  and  that  such  momentary  calls  often  slid  into  a  close 
and  protracted  conference,  which,  she  could  not  doubt,  had 
reference  to  her  own  domestic  affairs.  For  the  present,  she 
could  not  think  of  initiating  new  help ;  so  she  bore  the  annoy 
ance  silently. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"  A  word  fitly  spoken." 
"  Alany  men,  of  many  minds." 

How  often  does  some  thought,  lightly  stirred,  and  seemingly 
inadequate  to  any  great  result,  like  a  pebble  cast  into  the  lake, 
produce  concentric  waves  of  feeling,  till  the  whole  soul  moves 
obedient  to  its  power  !  On  a  Saturday  evening  in  February, 
our  young  minister  sat  at  his  family  fireside,  looking  long  and 
thoughtfully  at  the  burning  Lchigh. 

"  You  are  down  early  to-night,"  said  the  affectionate  wife,  as 
she  came  from  the  nursery,  with  little  Allison  in  her  arms. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  though  I  have  not  finished  my 
sermon." 

"  0,  Edward  !  "  said  she,  quickly ;  "  don't  go  back  to  youi 
14* 


162  THE   SHADY    SIDE  J    OR, 

study  to-night,  —  you  make  so  many  late  evenings,  —  take  an 
old  sermon." 

"  The  very  thing  I  have  resolved  to  do,"  responded  he. 
"  Yet,  I  find  I  have  preached  the  best  of  them.  The  stock, 
too,  is  getting  low." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  she  ;  "  but  for  me,  you  would  have  fewer  still. 
I  said  you  would  some  day  regret  having  burned  so  many." 

"  Your  prophecies,"  he  replied,  smiling,  "  do  not  often  fail ; 
but  there,  indeed,  you  were  mistaken.  Those  sermons,  over 
whose  conflagration  you  wasted  some  precious  tears,  made  more 
light  in  that  way,  poor  things,  than  they  could  have  done 
in  any  other.  Not  but  that  I  wrote  some  passable  sermons  in 
Salem ;  yet  my  style  of  sermonizing  has  changed  somewhat  since 
then." 

"  Yes,"  replied  she,  hastily.  "  But  I  love  lest  to  hear  you 
preach  those  old  sermons,  as  you  call  them." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Mary  ?  "  said  he,  startled  by  her  ear 
nest  tone. 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment,  hesitatingly,  then  said,  with 
much  emotion,  "  I  know,  my  husband,  that  you  study  dili 
gently,  and  write  with  care.  Your  sermons  are  more  eloquent 
and  nicely  finished ;  there  is  often  more  originality  and  depth, 
and  grasp  of  thought ;  but  they  strike  me,  most  of  them,  so 
differently  from  those  in  the  old  Salem  pulpit." 

**  What  is  the  difference  to  your  ear  ?  What  is  want 
ing  ? " 

"To  my  ear  —  nothing." 

"  What,  then  ?  "  persisted  he. 

"  Tc  my  heart,  spirituality,  unction,  Christ  in  the  word,  a 
living  pmver  !  Forgive  me,  dearest ;  I  never  said  this  to 
myself  before.  I  have  felt  it,  but  smothered  the  feeling.*' 
She  bent  over  the  babe,  but  he  saw  a  tear  fall. 

"  A  word  fitly  spoken,"  —  a  word  in  due  season,  —  how  good 
is  it! 

It  was  late  that  night  ere  Edward  Vernon  slept.     He  waa 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  163 

looking  iuto  his  own  heart  as  he  had  not  done  for  months ; 
questioning  his  motives ;  scrutinizing  his  secret  springs  of 
thought  and  feeling.  Those  few  words,  "  spirituality,"  "  unc 
tion,"  "  a  living  Christ,"  rung  in  his  soul,  and  with  them  the 
declaration  of  the  Great  Teacher,  "  My  words  are  spirit  and 
life." 

The  next  day  he  was  too  unsettled  to  preach  well ;  but  from 
that  time  he  resolved  to  humble  himself,  and  beg  his  sermons 
of  God  in  prayer.  He  detected  the  latent  sparks  of  self-seek 
ing  and  desire  of  fame.  While  he  had  been  so  long  burnishing 
the  intellect,  his  heart  had  not,  indeed,  grown  cold ;  but  he  had 
sometimes  mistaken  the  kindling  glow  of  natural  sensibility  for 
the  purer  warmth  of  close  communion  with  the  source  of  vital 
light  and  heat. 

Henceforth  the  preaching  in  Millville  pulpit  was  more  pun 
gent  and  practical.  The  conscience  of  loose,  worldly  professors 
was  a  little  stirred.  This  was  certainly  coming  closer  than 
they  liked ;  but  they  knew  it  would  suit  the  good  old  Christians 
of  the  suburbs,  and  do  somewhat  to  conciliate  the  radicals,  who 
were  beginning  to  eye'  the  minister  askance.  So  they  bore  it 
patiently ;  —  some  with  assumed  nonchalance  ;  others  with 
bowed  heads,  as  if  taking  a  comfortable  nap.  (Doubtful 
whether  anybody  slept  in  church  about  those  days.) 

Presently  there  was  an  unwonted  stillness  in  the  Sabbath 
audiences  The  pastor's  heart  beat  with  hope  and  solicitude. 
The  leaven  of  truth  was  fermenting  in  the  community.  0,  that 
the  whole  mass  might  be  leavened ! 

Very  quietly  he  sought  interviews,  here  and  there,  jro- 
miscuously,  to  deepen  the  impressions  of  the  pulpit.  In  the 
same  noiseless  way,  he  set  to  work  the  most  spiritual  of  the 
brethren.  One  and  another  dropped  in  to  the  weekly  prayer- 
meeting,  —  hitherto  a  solitary  place,  —  till  the  room  was  filled. 
A  few  more  weeks  of  continuous  effort,  in  this  way,  and  tha 
work  of  God,  gathering  power  in  secret,  will  develop  outwardly 
in  a  strong  and  glorious  conquest  of  the  truth  and  spirit. 


164  THE   SHADY   SIIJE  ;    OR, 

But  Deacon  Slocum  is,  by  this  time,  in  danger  of  explosion. 
Two  weeks  ago,  at  the  evening  meeting,  he  rose,  unasked,  and 
offered  a  prayer,  in  which,  to  Mr.  Vernon's  horror,  was  the 
petition,  "  0  Lord,  come  now,  by  thy  Spirit,  and  work  salva 
tion  !  If  thou  never  come  again,  come  now ! "  After  the 
prayer,  he  spoke,  with  little  savor  of  meekness,  informing  the 
hearers  that  "  the  Lord  was  coming  among  them  with  power, 
He  had  not  a  doubt  of  it.  The  place  was  about  to  be  shaken, 
as  with  an  earthquake.  A  great  revival  was  at  hand,  and  woe 
unto  those  who  came  not  up  to  the  help  of  the  Lord !  "  Mr. 
Vernon  was  greatly  discomposed.  At  the  close  of  the  meeting, 
he  talked  long  and  earnestly  with  the  deacons,  and  told  them 
what  would  be  lost  by  such  precipitancy  and  extravagance. 
Since  that  night,  he  had  held  them  in,  as  it  were,  by  bit  and 
bridle. 

On  the  other  hand,  his  prudent  professors  came  to  him,  and 
praised  his  conservatism.  "  They  were  glad  to  see  a  growing 
seriousness,  but  deprecated  excitement  in  such  a  community. 
It  was  very  judicious  in  the  minister  to  have  no  extra  meetings, 
except  a  third  service  on  the  Sabbath,"  &c.  &c. 

With  men  of  this  extreme,  the  pastor  had  less  sympathy, 
even,  than  with  the  other.  Between  the  two,  he  was  almost  at 
his  wits'  end.  But  matters  could  not  tarry  long  in  this  posi 
tion.  Mrs.  Harris  felt  called  upon  to  make  amends  for  the 
minister's  moderation  and  the  lukewarmness  of  the  brethren,  by 
her  own  personal  efforts  with  individual  sinners ;  and  her  con 
science  pointed  to  just  those  cases  which  her  good  sense  and 
modesty  should  have  left  to  others.  She  had  asked  Mr.  Ver 
non  for  more  preaching,  and  suggested  the  expedient  of  an 
"anxious  seat"  aqd  "inquiry  meeting." 

Both  she  and  her  brother  were  impatient  at  the  slow  progress 
of  things.  They  conferred  with  a  few  kindred  spirits,  and  con 
cluded  it  might  be  possible  that  the  Lord  could  not  work  through 
the  instrumentality  of  a  church  so  corrupt  and  worldly  as  their 
own.  Under  this  notion,  they  went  in,  of  an  evening  to  pray 


LIFE   IN   A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  165 

with  the  Methodist  brethren,  among  whom,  as  yet,  all  was 
quiet.  There  they  unburdened  their  hearts,  and  kindled  a 
spark  that  soon  spread  into  a  flame.  The  next  movement  was 
the  appointment  of  a  "four  days'  meeting"  at  the  Methodist 
church.  The  community  was  astir  with  expectation ;  —  the 
current  was  in  motion. 

Then  the  worldly-wise  Christians  changed  their  ground. 
They  feared  this  competition  would  injure  their  society.  Mr. 
Walter  wondered  what  Mr.  Vernon  meant  by  not  having  more 
meetings.  He  ought  to  have  kept  the  start  of  the  Methodists." 
Mr.  Moulton  insinuates  his  advice.  "  It  may  be  best  to  hold 
no  more  meetings  in  the  lecture-room,  but  appoint  them  in  the 
church,  and  have  preaching  every  evening,  and  let  the  bett  be 
rung  and  tolled  at  the  hour."  (It  was  the  only  church-bell  in 
the  village.) 

As  matters  are,  the  pastor  sees  no  alternative ;  but  his  heart 
is  heavy  with  disappointed  hope.  Both  churches  are  crowded, 
night  after  night ;  great  excitement  prevails ;  the  people  run 
hither  and  thither ;  many  objectionable  things  are  done,  —  Mr. 
Vernon  not  consenting,  but  unable  to  control  the  fanatical 
clique,  who  piece  out  his  meetings  by  a  late  after-sitting 
with  the  Methodist  brethren.  By-and-by  the  commotion  sub 
sides;  daily  preaching  is  suspended;  the  prayer-meeting 
reverts  to  the  old  lecture-room,  whither  the  chief  dignitaries, 
as  usual,  do  not  follow;  the  pastor  is  exhausted, —  more  by 
his  efforts  to  keep  the  ark  from  the  profane  touch  of  its 
friends,  than  by  aggressive  movements  upon  the  kingdom  of 
Satan ;  a  considerable  number  of  converts  enter  the  Methodist 
class ;  a  smaller  number  propose  to  unite  with  Mr.  Vernon's 
church,  but  are  wisely  delayed.  Meanwhile  he  establishes  a 
weekly  meeting  for  their  examination  and  instruction.  It 
makes  upon  him  large  demands ;  but  he  will  take  any  pains, 
rather  than  overload  the  church  with  spurious  disciples.  The 
sifting  process  goes  on,  and  in  three  months  he  receives  to  his 
church,  the  fruit  of  all  his  outlay  and  toil,  ten  persons:  being 


166  THE    SHADY   SIDE  J    OR, 

all  in  regard  to  whose  Christian  character  he  is  clearly  satisfied. 
He  is  humbled,  and  retraces  the  whole  scene  with  sorrowful 
perplexity.  Ah !  he  is  not  the  only  honest  laborer  for  Christ 
who  has  had  such  occasion  to  muse,  sad  and  perplexed. 

Mr.  Vernon,  however,  may  as  well  dismiss  past  troubles. 
There  are  enough,  present  and  prospective,  to  put  all  his  Chris 
tian  philosophy  in  requisition.  Of  some  active  spirits  in  his 
church,  he  might  say,  as  David  of  the  sons  of  Zeruiah,  "  They 
are  too  hard  for  me."  He  looked  on  every  side,  in  vain,  for  the 
warm,  fraternal  hearts  that  used  to  beat  with  his  in  the  Salem 
praying  circle.  His  soul  missed  the  spiritual  culture  and  joy 
of  that  close  fellowship.  The  pastor  needs,  —  why  should  he 
not  ?  —  as  well  as  the  layman,  the  communion  of  the  saints,  as 
a  means  of  nourishment  and  strength.  How  often  did  he 
recur  to  the  little  band  who  once  stood  around  him,  as  a  body 
guard  of  soldiers  round  their  leader !  There  was  not  one,  the 
least  gifted,  but  was  to  him  more  of  a  brother  than  any  he  had 
found  in  Millville.  His  heart  yearned  for  the  old  interchange 
of  prayer  and  experience.  "  0 !  "  said  he,  one  night,  after 
his  return  from  the  lecture-room,  "  if  I  could  hear  even  brother 
Dennis  pray,  rough  and  inaccurate  as  he  is,  it  would  quite 
cheer  me  up.  I  would  n't  mind  his  asking  that  we  might  '  set 
our  faces,  as  a  flint,  Zionward,'  or  his  favorite  simile  of  '  an 
arrow  headed  at  both  ends,'  or  his  rude  grasp  of  my  hand,  like 
a  vise." 

"The  last,"  replied  Mary,  "you  ought  to  expect  of  him,  aa 
he  has  been  a  vicicnts  man  so  long.  Bui  what  has  happened 
to-night?  You  look  really  sick." 

"  I  am  heart-sick,"  said  the  poor  minister.  "  Our  meetings 
have  dwindled  to  about  the  old  number.  None  present,  to 
night,  from  beyond  the  village,  but  Mr.  Norton  and  his  son.  I 
can  see  in  them  a  growing  spirituality.  I  went  a  little  behind 
the  time,  I  believe,  —  five  minutes,  or  so.  Well,  —  would  you 
believe  it  ?  —  Deacon  Slccum  had  begun  the  meeting.  There 
he  was,  in  my  seat,  by  the  desk,  reading  a  portion  of  Scripture. 


I 

LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  167 

lie  saw  me  enter,  but  finished  the  chapter,  and  then  coolly 
asked  me  if  I  would  take  the  chair." 

"  Which  you  did,  of  course." 

"  Yes ;  but  he  made,  afterward,  no  explanation  or  apology." 

"  Deacon  Nobles  is  more  modest  than  to  do  such  a  thing,1* 
said  Mary. 

"  Perhaps  he  is,"  was  the  reply ;  '*  or  too  stupid  to  think  of 
it.  lie  is  so  ignorant !  We  walked  up  together,  from  tho 
meeting.  Something  led  me  to  a  remark  on  the  subject  of 
Divine  Providence,  when  he  said  that  he  believed  in  a  general 
Providence ;  but  he  never  liked  to  have  every  little  occurrence 
ascribed  to  Providence.  It  always  seemed  to  him  beneath  so 
great  a  being  as  God  to  attend  to  such  small  and  unimportant 
matters." 

"  Why,  Edward  !     What  did  you  say  to  him  ?  " 

"  Not  much,"  said  Mr.  Vernon.  "  I  felt  as  if  it  would  be 
wasting  words  to  try  to  set  him  right." 

"  But  you  must  do  it,  my  dear." 

"  I  suppose  I  must  try.  0,  shade  of  Deacon  Ely ! " 
exclaimed  the  poor  man,  passionately.  "  I  fear,  Mary,  I  have 
not  the  grace  of  patience  to  labor  here." 

Ah !  marvel  not,  thou  servant  of  God,  that  thou  shouldst  be 
put  in  the  crucible.  It  may  yet  be  needful  to  heat  the  furnace 
one  seven-times  more  than  its  wont ;  but  thou  art  under  the 
Refiner's  hand,  who  will  see  that  thy  dross  only  is  consumed  in 
the  trial. 

The  weeks  roll  on,  and  the  pastor  with  them,  —  constantly  on 
the  alert,  like  the  anxious  driver  of  an  over-loaded  vehicle, 
drawn  by  animals  many  and  ill-assorted.  Foremost  in  the 
multitudinous  array  is  the  zealous  deacon.  He  would  draw 
with  all  his  might,  when  he  could  lead,  and  carry  all  at  his  own 
rate  of  speed ;  but  woe  to  the  whole  team  if  there  come  a  pause ! 
No  use  to  put  up  the  check  ;  —  he  will  take  the  bit  in  his  teeth, 
and  dash  right  or  left,  no  matter  where,  so  he  can  but  be  mov 
ing 


THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OK, 

Sister  Rajhel,  thanks  to  the  patience  and  wisdom  of  the  pas 
tor's  wife,  though  impetuous,  is  kept  within  the  traces. 

And  moving  with  the  cavalcade,  yet  looking  another  way,  are 
the  rich,  the  honorable,  the  prudent,  who,  like  the  nobles  of 
Tekoa,  put  not  their  necks  to  the  work  of  their  Lord, 

The  summer  is  nearly  spent,  when  Mr.  Vernon  is  summoned 
to  the  old  homestead,  on  the  occasion  of  his  aged  father's 
demise,  —  an  event  long  expected. 

His  purse  was,  at  this  time,  very  low ;  —  indeed,  it  had  foi 
months  been  the  receptacle  of  a  single  bill  at  a  time,  —  a  five,  or 
ten ;  oftener  less,  —  some  marriage  fee,  or  the  remuneration  for 
lecturing  abroad.  He  had,  several  times,  asked  the  treasurer 
to  advance  him  a  small  sum ;  but  always,  with  one  exception, 
received  the  reply,  that  "  there  was  no  money  in."  His 
salary  was  now  nearly  due,  and,  confident  of  success,  he  post 
poned  the  application  till  ready  for  his  journey.  To  his  sur 
prise,  he  met  the  old  story,  "  no  money  in  the  treasury." 
What  should  he  do  ?  It  was  suggested  that  he  might  obtain  it 
3y  calling  on  his  prominent  pew-holders  He  had  no  time  to 
lose.  Mr.  Elton  was  the  nearest  man.  "  He  would  be  glad  to 
do  it,  but  he  was  already  used  up.  He  wished  he  did  owe  the 
society ;  but,  unfortunately,  the  society  owed  him  more  than 
enough  to  cover  his  yearly  contribution.  They  were  in  debt 
for  the  bell,  and  he  took  the  debt  off  their  hands.  It  was 
about  thirty  dollars."  Without  waiting  for  further  particulars, 
Mr.  Vernon  hurried  over  to  the  brick  store.  Mr.  Moulton  had 
gone  to  the  foundery.  Thither  he  followed,  and  made  known  his 
errand.  Mr.  Moulton  "  was  astonished  to  hear  the  treasury  was 
empty,  so  near  the  end  of  the  year ;  Hbut,  indeed,  he  did  not  see 
as  he  could  help  the  matter.  Those  blinds  on  the  parsonage 
were  procured  by  subscription.  It  lay  along,  without  being 
closed,  six  months,  when  payment  was  demanded,  and  he  found 
there  was  a  deficit  of  twenty  dollars,  and  he  paid  it.  He  had 
often  done  such  things,  and  said  nothing ;  but  he  thought,  this 
time,  he  would  !et  it  go  toward  his  pew-rent." 


LIFE    IN    A  COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  169 

A  long  story,  Mr.  Vernon  thought,  when  he  found  the 
money  was  yet  to  be  looked  after.  "  Would  Mr.  Walter  be 
likely  to  advance  it  ?  "  said  he,  leaving  hastily.  "  Stop,  sir," 
?aid  Mr.  Moulton, "  you  are  in  haste,  and  it  is  too  much  trouble 
to  run  after  him."  (He  knew  it  was  of  no  use,  and  he  was 
sensitive  to  the  reputation  of  the  society.)  "  Let  me  lend  you 
what  you  want  for  this  emergency."  And  he  placed  ten  dollars 
in  his  pastor's  hand,  with  the  suavity  of  one  who  was  receiving 
a  favor.  It  had  not  escaped  his  penetrating  eye,  that  there 
was  in  Mr.  Vernon's  face  something  expressive  of  a  suddon 
enlightenment  in  regard  to  the  financial  concerns  of  the  parish. 

A  vague  uneasiness  about  his  pecuniary  affairs  haunted  the 
pastor's  mind  thereafter  for  many  days.  Upon  his  return,  his 
first  leisure  was  devoted  to  a  critical  examination  of  his  ex 
penses  during  the  year.  To  his  astonishment,  he  found  that 
he  had  given  orders  to  the  amount  of  three  hundred  dollars, 
for  which  he  hardly  felt  that  he  could  have  had  their  equiva 
lent.  A  large  bill  for  provender  was  not  included.  His  run 
ning  accounts  with  the  merchants  he  had  no  means  of  estimat 
ing,  except  at  one  shop,  where  the  purchases  were  entered  in  a 
little  book  kept  by  himself.  Here,  the  amount  surprised  him, 
and  he  began  to  fear  that  his  salary  would  not  cover  his  cur 
rent  expenses.  The  secret  he  had  yet  to  learn. 

Pay-day  arrived,  confirming  his  fears.  He  was  fifty  dollars 
in  debt ;  and,  to  add  to  the  confusion,  the  society  proved  delin 
quent  toward  him  in  the  same  amount. 

The  leading  men  made  the  best  of  the  matter.  "  It  had 
been  a  hard  year  for  the  society.  The  salary  was  a  hundred 
dollars  more  than  th»y  had  .paid  formerly.  On  the  whole,  they 
had  done  pretty  well.  Mr.  Vernon  must  wait  on  them  a  while. 
The  next  quarter's  pew-rent  will  settle  up." 

But  when  he  told  them,  seriously,  that  the  whob  salary,  for 

some  reason,  failed  to  meet  his  expenditures,  their  complacency 

was  evidently  disturbed.     Various  were  the  ways  in  which  tho 

astounding  fact  was  accounted  for,  among  the  people.     The 

15 


170  THE   SHADY    SIDE;     OR, 

loudest  outcry  was,  "  The  horse,  —  that  large,  fine  horse,  which 
had  eaten  him  up  !  "  —  "  A  foolish  piece  of  business,"  said  Mr. 
Walter.  "  What  did  he  want  of  a  horse  ?  "  —  "  Very  mean 
in  you  to  talk  so,  Walter,"  said  his  outspoken  wife  (it  waa 
very  difficult  for  her  to  follow  Sara's  example,  and  give  hei 
husband  a  title,  when  everybody  else  addressed  him  without  it) 
—  "  very  mean.  You  know  he  had  all  the  people  in  the  out- 
skirts  to  get  acquainted  with." 

Mrs.  Selden  tossed  her  head,  and  "  thought,  when  she  first 
saw  those  splendid  curtains  at  the  parlor  windows  of  the  par 
sonage,  that  Millville  people  would  not  be  able  to  support  such 
extravagance.  She  did  not  think  of  such  curtains  herself. 
Her  daughter  in  the  city  had  them,  but  they  were  very  expen 
sive." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Elton  said,  "  Don't  be  alarmed.  It 's  only 
their  first  year  among  us,  and  it  takes  something  to  get  settled." 
Mrs.  Moulton  suggested  that  they  had  incurred  a  sickness  bill 
at  the  parsonage,  and  that  their  "  '  help '  was  not  the  most 
economical."  Mrs.  Harris  looked  distressed,  and  Deacon  Slo- 
cum  "  guessed  the  minister  did  n't  work  it  right." 

But  the  minister  and  his  wife  resolved  to  know  the  where 
fore  themselves.  Diligently  investigating,  they  found  they  had 
received  half  their  salary  in  "  orders  ";  and  that  for  every 
article  purchased  at  the  village  stores  they  had  paid,  at  leas', 
twenty-five  per  cent,  on  city  prices.  What  marvel  that  they 
were  fifty  dollars  in  debt ! 


* 


LIFE    IN    A    COUNTKY    PARSONA':::.  171 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"  There  are  more  things  in  heaven 
And  earth,  Horatio,  than  thou  hast  dreamt  of 
In  thy  philosophy." 


is  always  happening  most  years,"  said 
AVethereirs  Dutch  farmer.  In  respect  to  the  year  now 
before  us  to  be  chronicled,  it  seemed  as  if  everything  was  huj)- 
peuing,  and  all  together.  It  opened  upon  our  minister  in  diffi 
culty  and  doubt,  and  with  many  ominous  shadows,  stretching 
toward  him,  of  coming  evil.  Mindful  of  the  inspired  adage, 
"  A  brother  is  born  for  adversity,"  he  resolved  upon  a  visit  to 
Norfield,  to  seek  some  relief  from  his  present  straits. 

It  was,  indued,  a  comfort  to  feel  the  grasp  of  that  strong 
fraternal  hand,  and  listen  to  words  of  hope  and  cheer. 

"  It  is  rather  a  narrow  place,"  said  brother  James,  "  but  we 
will  contrive,  a  way  through  ;"  and  sister  Julia  rallied  him  on 
nis  long  face,  till  his  saddened  spirit  caught  the  tone  of  theirs. 
There,  too,  was  the  sense  of  protection  under  the  old  roof-tree, 
such  as  he  used  to  feel  when  a  boy.  It  seemed  easier,  there,  to 
trust  his  heavenly  Father's  love. 

"  Let  's  see,"  said  James  ;  "  you  have  a  tenant  in  your  own 
house.  When  will  the  first  half-year's  payment  be  due  for 
rent?  —  in  two  months  ?  Well,  that  will  pay  the  interest  due 
Captain  Newell  on  the  four  hundred." 

"  But  the  interest  is  due  next  week,"  said  the  anxious 
debtor. 

"  Wait,  Ned,  and  hear  me  through.  My  crops  have  come 
in  finely,  and  I  am  rather  aforehanded  for  money.  1  will  pay 
the  interest,  and  tell  the  captain  he  must  wait  for  the  principal 
till  you  can  sell  the  place.  When  you  get  your  rent,  you  can 
refund,  if  you  dcn't  want  the  money  more  for  something  else." 


172  TIIE  SHADY  SIDE;   OR, 

• 

Edward  expressed  his  gratitude ;  then  added,  sorrowfully, 
"  I  cannot  think  of  keeping  a  horse,  hereafter  ;  so  Pompey  and 
I  must  part." 

"  Leave  him  with  me,"  said  the  kind  brother, "  and  go  home 
by  the  stage-coach  and  cars.  I  can  sell  him  to  the  best  advan 
tage.  What  deep  thought  strikes  you  now  ?  " 

"  O  !  ''  replied  Edward,  rousing  from  his  reverie  ;  "  I  will 
leave  him,  and  thank  you,  too.  But  you  need  not  sell  him  at 
present.  Wait  till  you  hear  from  me.  I  was  looking  ahead, 
that 's  all.  As  for  my  debts  in  Millville  "  — 

"Square  them  off,"  said  the  farmer;  "  it  hurts  a  minister's 
credit  to  be  in  debt  among  his  own  people.  Better  borrow 
fifty  dollars,  and  give  your  note  As  to  the  other  fifty,  1 
should  push  the  society  pretty  hard  for  it." 

"  And  if  you  obtained  it,"  responded  Edward,  "  you  might 
have  the  satisfaction  of  feeling  that  it  vras  taken  from  the 
resources  upon  which  the  next  payment  must  depend.  That 's 
the  way  my  parish  keep  up  their  boast  of  being  out  of 
debt.  They  use  up  all  their  best  men  in  advance."  But  he 
resolved  to  take  his  brother's  advice.  James  borrowed  the 
fifty  dollars  on  his  own  security,  and  Mr.  Yernon  returned  with 
a  lighter  heart. 

He  sent  in  a  statement  of  his  circumstances  to  the  society ; 
and,  after  much  shuffling,  they  made  up  the  deficit,  and  voted 
to  render  the  salary  hereafter  in  semi-annual  payments.  So 
this  matter  was  temporarily  at  rest. 

Yet  this  was  not  the  only  source  of  disquiet.  He  was  sensi 
ble  of  a  widening  distance  between  himself  and  his  fellow- 
laborers,  the  deacons ;  —  not  that  he  had  withdrawn  from  them, 
but  they  were  pressing  onward,  with  rapidly  increasing  momen 
tum,  toward  the  farthest  verge  of  ultraism.  They  wished  a 
separate  organization  for  every  department  of  moral  effort.  Mr. 
Vernon  would  have  but  one  "  monthly  concert "  of  prayer ; 
they  insisted  upon  two.  By  giving  their  favorite  continent  ita 
proper  share  in  the  exercises  of  each  monthly  gathering  he 


LIFE   IN    A  COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  173 

staved  off  the  matter  for  a  while.  But  at  length,  finding  the 
minister  decided,  they  bolted,  and  set  up  an  anti-slavery  con 
cert  for  themselves.  Yet,  they  were  not  satisfied  with  inde 
pendency.  Their  opposition  began  to  manifest  itself  openly. 
Deacon  Slocum  was  an  outspoken  man.  He  entered  soon  upon 
a  tirade  against  the  churches.  He  even  advanced  the  doctrine 
that  a  minister's  popularity  with  the  world  is  in  inverse  pro 
portion  to  his  faithfulness;  — then  pointed  to  the  fact  that  the 
young  men  of  the  village  all  liked  Mr.  Vernon. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  men  of  worldly  influence  in  tho 
church  were  increasingly  sensitive,  and  fearful  lest  their  minis 
ter  was  becoming  a  too  ardent  philanthropist. 

The  ungodly  multitude  laughed  at  the  blind  zeal  of  the  agi 
tators,  and  sneered  at  the  religion  of  the  opposite  class,  that 
permitted  such  selfish  exactions,  under  the  motto,  "  All 's  fair 
in  trade." 

The  times,  moreover,  were  getting  bad.  It  was  rumored 
that  money  would  soon  be  unprecedentedly  scarce,  and  that  a 
great  commercial  crisis  mast  ensue.  A  leaden  cloud  seemed  to 
overspread  Mr.  Yernon's  horizon.  In  his  own  sanctuary  of 
domestic  love  there  were  indeed  sunshine  and  solace;  yet  even 
here  intruded  the  disquieting  thought  that  one  dearer  than 
himself  was  overtasked  and  fast  losing  her  youthful  bloom. 

In  his  heart  the  day-star  of  Christian  hope  yet  beamed,  and 
the  flame  of  Jesus'  love  glowed  brightly.  Yet  this  constrain 
ing  love  only  seemed  at  times  to  intensify  the  painful  conscious 
ness  that  he  was  accomplishing  little  for  the  Master's  cause.  It 
was  with  a  sad  foreboding  that  he  perceived  his  freedom  in 
intellectual  labor  injuriously  affected  by  these  untoward  things 
around  him. 

Mrs.  Yernon  was  niore  cheerful.  Not  that  she  any  the  less 
appreciated  their  circumstances,  but  she  guarded  against  des 
pondency,  that  evil  genius  that  once  brooded  with  raven  wing 
over  their  first  home.  She  dreaded  a  return  of  those  dark 
days,  i-iiiJ  strove  to  be  happy,  for  her  husband's  as  well  as  con- 


174  THE   SHADY    SIDE  J    OR. 

Bcience'  sake.  But  there  was  an  insidious  influence,  against 
which,  not  being  forewarned,  she  was  not  forearmed.  She  had 
a  quick  sense  of  injustice,  especially  when  one  dear  to  her  was 
the  sufferer.  Injuries  that,  falling  on  herself,  would  have  been 
met  with  forgiving  gentleness,  when  committed  against  her  hus 
band,  roused  her  spirit  to  indignation,  or  transient  resentment. 
A  new  acquaintance  had  no  small  share  in  developing  these 
tendencies  to  mischief.  This  was  no  less  a  person  than  Mr. 
Clifton,  —  an  ex-minister,  who  had  lost  his  health,  and  with  it 
lost  his  parish,  and  withal  lost  his  voice,  and  so  lost  his  profes 
sion.  His  father  residing  in  the  village,  he  naturally  came 
home  to  recruit,  and  turn  his  thoughts  to  some  new  pursuit. 
He  was  a  man  of  unusual  talent,  and  its  common  accompani 
ment,  excessive  sensibility,  and  of  much  genial  humor,  orig 
inally  ;  yet  the  world  had  not  used  him  tenderly,  and  he  owed 
it  a  slight  grudge.  Some  men,  of  fair  exterior,  he  had  dis 
cerned  to  be  whited  sepulchres ;  so  he  suspected  many  to  be 
tuch.  He  looked  on  the  dark  side  of  human  nature,  and  drew 
the  picture  with  graphic  skill.  Being  quite  at  leisure,  he  was 
a  frequent  caller  at  the  parsonage,  where  his  conversational 
gifts  made  him  a  pleasant  guest,  though  his  wit  was  piquant, 
and  his  common  vein  sarcastic. 

It  was  well  for  him  that  restored  health  and  active  toil  in  a 
lucrative  profession  did  at  length  wear  away  the  keen  edge  of 
his  satirical  temper,  and  induce  a  more  genial  flow  of  good- will 
and  forbearance  toward  his  kind.  At  this  period,  certainly, 
he  looked  upon  the  world  through  a  discolored  medium  ;  and, 
though  he  meant  it  not,  his  intercourse  at  the  parsonage  was 
among  the  bitter  tributaries  that  helped  to  swell  the  uneven 
current  of  life  in  those  eventful  days. 

In  our  narrative,  thus  far,  we  have  made  no  reference  to  a 
diary  ;  but  let  not  the  reader  hence  imagine  that  such  a  source 
of  information  has  not  been  at  hand.  We  hold  that  private  jour 
nals,  —  records  mainly  of  the  interior  life  of  the  soul,  —  are 
mostly  too  sacred  for  the  promiscuous  eye.  But  there  are,  wa 


LIFK    IS    A   COLXTUV   PARSONAGE.  175 

find,  certain  chapters,  bearing  date  with  the  present  epoch  of  this 
humble  history,  which  seem  peculiarly  to  belong  to  the  public ; 
and  which  may  givo  a  more  vivid  impression  than  our  prosy 
statements,  of  the  next  few  months  at  the  parsonage.  We 
open  the  diary  near  the  beginning  of  the  second  year  at  Mill- 
ville. 

"October,  —  Snuggery,  9|  o'clock.  Edward  has  gono  to 
his  father's.  Ah !  it  is  natural  to  write  '  father's,'  though  that 
honored  head  lies  low;  and  the  spirit  is  with  the  just  made 
perfect.  I  expected  Edward  home  to-night;  but,  instead,  a  let 
ter  from  him  announces  his  purpose  to  leave  the  horse  and  car 
riage  at  Norfield,  and  return  by  public  conveyance.  He  will 
come  -in  the  morning  mail-coach  from  S. 

"  Ah !  I  shall  miss  the  rides  with  Pompey,  and  so  will  the 
dear  children.  Little  Allie,  —  he  nestles  now  in  the  cradle  by 
my  side,  as  if  there  were  some  mysterious  telegraph  between 
my  pen  and  his  thought, — little  Allie  has  leariod  to  call '  Pom' 
already.  It  is  a  trial  to  have  the  horse  go ;  yet  how  light 
compared  with  many  other  things!  The  Lord  give  us  grace  to 
bear  nil  our  trials  meekly,  as  from  his  hand. 

"  October.  —  Evening  again.  It  is  the  only  time  I  get  now 
to  write.  Edward  has  gone  to  his  study  for  another  hour.  Mr. 
Wells  has  spent  most  of  the  evening  with  us.  I  dearly  love 
the  good,  plain  farmer ;  his  call  to-night  has  made  my  heart 
lighter.  He  proposes,  as  our  horse  is  gone,  and  we  have  hay 
still  at  the  barn,  that  we  shall  keep  a  cow.  (Milk  is  five  and 
BIX  cents  a  quart  now.)  lie  has  a  fine  heifer,  which  he  offers  us 
below  the  market  price,  and  he  bids  Mr.  Vernon  be  easy  about 
the  pay, — he  can -wait  till  spring.  He  and  Edward  had  along 
conversation  upon  society  affairs ;  and  afterward  slid  into  a 
quiet,  edifying  talk  upon  practical  godliness.  For  the  moment, 
I  forgot  the  din,  and  smoke,  and  hollow  seemings  of  this  fac 
tory-village,  and  had  the  old  tranquil  feeling  as  in  the  little 
back-parlor,  at  Salem,  when  a  neighbor  had  stepped  in  for  an 


176  THE    SHADY    SIDE;    OB, 

evening's  converse.  Presently,  the  bells  rang,  sending  a  quick 
pain  to  my  heart,  as  the  illusion  was  dispelled.  I  believe  I 
could  learn  to  love  this  place,  if  the  people  were  more  con 
siderate  toward  their  minister. 

•'  October.  —  Deacon  Slocum  has  seen  Mr.  Vernon  to-day, 
and  offered  to  let  him  a  horse  and  wagon  whenever  he  shall 
have  occasion  for  them;  he  is  obliged  to  keep  a  horse,  and 
has  not  constant  use  for  him.  Edward  consented,  fearing  he 
might  be  misconstrued,  if  he  declined.  I  mentioned  the  cir 
cumstance  to  Mr.  Clifton,  and  he  shook  his  head.  '  I  per 
ceive,'  said  I,  '  that  you  think  the  deacon  has  some  sinister  end 
in  view.'  '  Why,'  said  he,  '  the  deacon  is  a  fair  man  in  his  ordi 
nary  dealings ;  but  he  has  a  monomania,  under  which  he  may 
do  some  strange  things.  He  is  making  no  secret  of  his 'dislike 
of  the  minister ;  yet  his  talk  is  very  specious.  He  told  me, 
the  other  day,  that  the  young  men  stood  aloof  from  religion, 
and  it  was  a  pity  they  were  not  dealt  more  faithfully  with,  in 
the  time  of  the  revival ;  but  the  minister  courts  their  favor.' 
I  told  Mr.  Clifton  that  the  deacon  knew  but  little  of  Mr.  Ver 
non  's  efforts  with  that  class  of  our  congregation.  To  which  he 
replied :  '  If  Deacon  Slocum  wants  to  convert  a  man,  he  goes 
at  him  with  a  sledge-hammer,  and  knocks  him  down ;  if  he  get 
up,  a  rebel  still,  the  deacon's  conscience  acquits  him  as  having 
done  his  duty.' 

"  Oh,  it  is  hard,  after  all  Edward's  toil  and  pains-taking,  to 
be  accused  of  unfaithfulness  to  souls !  But  let  it  pass. 

"  The  month  is  just  departing,  and  with  it,  the  fourth  year 
of  our  married  life ;  —  days  of  bliss  that  have  sped  on  swift 
wing !  —  slow-footed  hours  of  sorrow,  few,  yet  well  remem 
bered ! —  tasks,  whose  reward  was  with  them! — seed  sown 
in  tears,  with  long  patience  for  the  far-off  reaping !  —  dear 
household  joys,  heart-communings  !  —  heart-achings,  too,  from 
wounded  sensibilities  and  o'er-fond  affection !  Yet,  over  all, 
high  above,  the  rainbow  of  Christian  hope,  —  beneath  all,  in 
the  soul's  depths,  a  well -spring  of  joy  and  peace  untroubled, 


LIFE   IX    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  177 

springing  ap  and  oft  overflowing.  Blessed  bo  our  Rock,  and  let 
the  God  of  our  salvation  be  exalted. 

"  Norei/iler.  —  Attended  a  wedding  last  evening,  in  one  of 
our  rich  families.  A  little  disappointed  at  the  fee,  —  especially 
as  the  purse  is,  these  many  days,  empty,  —  only  two  dollars! 
Tell  it  not  in  Gath  ! 

"  Mr.  Clifton  has  been  in,  anxious  to  learn  how  much  the 
richer  we  are  for  last  night's  service.  I  told  him,  '  though  it 
would  hardly  enable  us  to  buy  a  village  lot  on  speculation,  or 
make  a  bank  deposit,  yet,  in  the  present  state  of  the  finances,  it 
was  not  to  be  despised.'  Then,  I  magnified  the  occasion;  a 
large  company  ;  a  splendid  table  ;  elegant  service,  and  a  half- 
dozen  varieties  of  cake,  with  fruits  and  confectioneries ;  and  I 
treated  him  to  a  lunch  from  a  loaf  of  cake,  whose  heavy  frost 
ing  was  gemmed  with  golden  stars,  —  gilt-paper  ornaments. 

"  '  Ah  ! '  said  he,  laughingly,  '  you  may  depend,  they  put  all 
the  gold  on  the  cake  ;  your  husband  did  n't  get  over  two  dollars 
for  marrying  them.' 

"  I  would  not  tell  him  he  had  guessed  right.  I  am  surprised 
at  his  knowledge  of  this  people,  and  of  human  nature.  But, 
poor  man,  he  seems  not  very  happy.  I  am  sorry  he  is  so 
reserved  on  the  subject  of  the  interior,  higher  life. 

"  November.  —  Thursday  evening.  Accompanied  Mr.  Ver- 
non,  last  night,  to  the  prayer-meeting.  We  hastened  over,  for 
fear  the  chair  would  be  preoccupied,  which,  I  knew,  would  spoil 
the  meeting  for  me.  Opportunity  being  given  for  the  brethren 
to  speak,  Deacon  Slocum  made  some  remarks  on  the  passage, 
'  If  ye  were  of  the  world,  the  world  would  love  its  own ;  but 
tvrause  ye  are  not,'  &c. ;  which  he  interpreted  to  mean,  'all 
i'aithful  Christians  will  be  persecuted  by  the  wicked ;'  and  he 
prayed  zealously  for  the  martyr-spirit.  I  fear  he  knows  little 
of  the  daily  martyrdom  of  patience.  Afterward,  Mr.  Vernon 
spoke  again,  showing  the  harmony  between  the  passage  just 
quoted,  and  such  as  these  :  —  '  Commending  ourselves  by  evil 
report,  and  by  good  report.'  '  Be  ye  wlso  as  serpents,  &c. 


178  THE    SHADY    SIDE  ;     OR, 

'  Let  not  your  good  be  evil  spoken  of.'  He  closed  by  saying,  in 
our  circumstances  it  is  not  so  important  to  inquire  whether  we 
could  give  our  body  to  be  burned,  as,  whether  we  daily  exercise 
that  charity  without  which  we  are  nothing. 

"  To-day,  in  our  little  female  praying  circle,  some  allusion 
was  made  to  last  evening,  when  old  Mrs.  Slocum  said,  '  Mr. 
Vernon  did  n't  seem  quite  to  agree  with  Sydney.  No  one 
responded,  and  she  added,  'Well,  Sydney  is  a  good  "man,  —  a 
praying  man.' 

"  After  meeting,  she  lingered  to  advise  me  about  little  Allie. 
He  is  teething,  and  very  pale  and  fretful.  She  said  he  '  wanted 
air  and  exercise  ;  it  wasn't  well  for  so  great  a  baby  to  be  car 
ried  in  arms  so  much ;  I  must  put  him  out  of  doors,  and  let 
him  run.'  '  Why,'  said  I,  '  you  forget,  ma'am,  he  is  only  a 
year  old,  and  docs  not  walk  yet.'  But  she  insisted  he  ought  to 
be  put  out  o'doors  every  day  of  this  fine  Indian  summer,  and 
added,  '  No  wonder  you  are  most  worn  out,  and  Miss  Polly, 
too,  lugging  such  a  great  child  about.'  I  understand  the  secret 
now.  Miss  Polly  has  been  making  complaint.  This  is  one  of 
the  lesser  trials,  which  are  becoming  familiar  to  me.  Would 
that  I  found  it  as  easy  to  rise  above  some  other  annoyances,  as 
I  do  those  of  this  class. 

"  November.  —  Feel  too  tired  and  sleepy,  my  dear  Journal, 
even  to  converse  with  you.  I  have  only  taken  you  up  to  whis 
per  a  word  of  complaint  in  your  ear.  Do  you  not  know  that  I 
have  neglected  you  entirely  these  three  evenings  ?  At  the  last 
meeting  of  the  sewing  society,  Mrs.  Elton  asked  me  to  take 
home  some  unfinished  work,  and  complete  it.  This,  I  felt,  was 
hardly  kind ;  though  a  poor  family  needed  the  garments  sadly. 
Mrs.  Elton  keeps  a  hired  sempstress  at  home,  and  she  knows 
my  cares.  I  could  not  put  by  niy  own  sewing,  —  the  children 
were  needing  their  winter  flannels,  —  so  I  have  set  up  late,  and 
stitched  till  my  tyes  ached,  and  my  fingers  were  a-weary.  1 
began  it  grudgingly,  I  confess ;  but  a  better  spirit  came  over 
me,  t  trust,  and  I  have  tried  to  do  it  as  unto  the  Lord. 


LIFE    IN    A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  170 

"  November.  —  Went  to  the  woollen-factory  boarding-house, 
and  carried  the  garments  to  poor  Mrs.  T.  She  received  them 
coolly.  Mrs.  Harris  had  prepared  me  to  expect  little  else,  by 
saying,  in  her  distressed  tone,  '  They  are  an  ungrateful  set,  but 
we  must  not  see  them  suffer.'  What  was  rny  surprise,  then, 
after  a  few  words  of  inquiry  about  her  children,  and  sympathy 
for  her  troubles,  to  see  the  tears  fall,  and  hear  her  say,  pjission 
ately,  '  0,  ma'am,  how  good  you  are  !  Thank  you,  —  thank 
you  ;  —  I  don't  mean  for  the  things,  —  though  Heaven  knows 
we  need  them  enough,  —  but  for  your  kind  words  —  the  first 
that  have  gone  to  my  heart  this  many  a  day.  They  're  worth 
more  than  the  clothes.  The  other  woman,  there,  that  come  in 
to  ask  if  we  needed  help,  didn't  speak  to  me  in  this  way; 
she  faulted  me  in  everything.  Why  did  n't  I  keep  my  house 
cleaner  ?  And  why  did  n't  I  mend  up  the  ragged  children  ? 
And  what  for  did  I  let  'em  rove  about  on  the  Sabbath  ?  And 
my  husband,  she  said,  'twas  a  wretched  thing  to  have  him  ro 
on  so,  —  as  if  I  don't  know  it,  —  and  I  must  try  to  stop  his 
drinking,  —  as  if  /  could  do  it.  And  when  she  offered  to  fix 
some  clothes  for  us,  I  knew  I  ought  to  be  grateful ;  but,  some 
how,  my  heart  ris  right  up,  and  I  could  n't  thank  her.'  I  have 
learned  a  lesson  from  this  scene.  The  poor,  however  abject, 
crave  sympathy. 

"  On  my  way  home,  I  ran  in  a  moment  to  see  my  old  Scotch 
woman.  Her  room  was  as  tidy  as  ever,  and  her  heart  as  warm. 
I  commended  poor  Mrs.  T.  to  her  attentions.  '  Awcel,'  said 
she,  'it's  nae  so  muckle  good  the  holding  forth  will  do  tho 
puir  creatures,  nor  the  alms;  it's  the  fellow-feeling  that  gaea 
to  the  heart.' 

"  November.  —  Mrs.  Selden,  it  seems,  had  a  select,  social 
gathering  to-day,  and  I  was  not  invited.  It  troubles  me  very 
little.  I  should  not  have  been  aware  of  it,  but  for  Mrs.  Harris. 
She  came  in,  supposing  I  was  at  the  party,  and  it  would  be  a 
good  opportunity  to  see  Mr.  Yernon,  and  say  some  things  she 
had  long  had  on  her  mind.  I  ofivml  to  call  him,  and  she  asked 


180    '  THE    SHADY    SIDE  J    OE, 

why  she  might  not  step  up  to  the  study.  On  being  consulted,, 
Edward  bade  her  come.  She  staid  an  hour,  —  going  over,  he 
told  me,  the  subject  of  brother  Sydney's  grievances,  in  regard 
to  the  minister,  and  professing  a  desire  to  act  the  part  9f  a 
mediator.  She  allowed  her  brother  went  too  far.  On  the 
other  hand,  '  it  was  not  strange  that  a  young  minister  should  be 
warped  by  the  views  of  such  men  as  Mr.  Moulton,  Mr.  Elton, 
and  others.  Even  Mrs.  Elton  confesses  that  her  sympathies 
are  more  with  the  deacon,  than  she  dare  express  openly.  But 
Paul  conferred  not  with  flesh  and  blood,'  &c.,  &c.  She  then 
asked  Mr.  Yernon  if  he  would  not  preach  upon  the  ten  com 
mandments.  Also,  if  there  could  not  something  be  done  for  our 
young  men. 

"  Edward's  manner  toward  her  was  very  gallant  and  respect 
ful.  I  wonder  at  his  patience. 

"  Making  her  exit  through  the  hall,  she  drew  me  toward  her 
and  whispered,  '  I  asked  Mr.  Vernon  to  preach  on  the  com 
mandments.  Won't  you  tell  him  that  a  sermon,  just  now,  on 
the  seventh,  would  not  come  amiss  ?  Some  men,  that  stand  high 
in  the  community,  need  a  home-thrust  on  that  subject.'  '  In 
deed  ! '  I  replied  ;  when  she  offered  to  mention  names  and  par 
ticulars  ;  but  I  declined  the  information.  She  had  an  air  of 
severe  goodness  and  awful  responsibility,  as  she  might  be  an 
angel  set  to  guard  the  decalogue.  Ah,  this  sounds  unkind  ! 
I  fear  I  do  not  feel  exactly  right  toward  sister  Rachel. 

"  November.  —  The  people  are  beginning  to  think  of  their 
pew-rent ;  contriving,  as  usual,  to  pay  in  produce.  Mr.  Ver 
non  says,  if  he  could  raise  the  money,  he  would  give  cash  for 
everything  he  takes  of  the  people,  and  put  a  stop  to  '  orders.' 
It  is  not  in  human  nature  not  to  take  advantage  of  such  a  mode 
of  payment.  Mr.  B.  has  been  bringing  wood  all  day,  —  three 
cords  of  maple,  —  for  which  he  wanted  an  order  of  ten  dollars, 
to  cover  his  pew-rent.  Mr.  Clifton  came  over  just  at  night,  and 
walked  around  the  wood-pile  two  or  three  times,  before  ho  came 
in.  Mr.  Vernon  asked  him  if  the  sticks  were  not  short  for 


LJFJi   IN    A    COL  NTH Y    PARSON  AG1J.  181 

three-feet  wood.  He  curled  his  lip,  and  muttered,  '  The  knav 
ish  fellow  ! '  Edward's  eye  asked  au  explanation.  '  Why,'  said 
he,  '  the  fact  is  just  here ;  old  B.  has  been  getting  a  lot  of 
three-feet  wood  for  the  cotton-mill,  —  twenty  or  thirty  cords. 
Among  it  were  some  short,  unmerchantable  sticks,  which  were 
thrown  out.  He  has  made  up  your  three  cords  from  these  odds 
and  ends.  He  thought  the  minister  would  n't  know  the  differ 
ence;  and  that  isn't  all,  —  Walter  gave  him  but  three  dollars  a 
cord,  and  he  has  charged  you  two  shillings  more,  to  make  out 
his  ten  for  the  society.'  Edward  was  silent,  as  he  often  is 
when  troubled ;  and  Mr.  Clifton  came  out  against  the  parish 
with  his  most  caustic  epithets.  I  told  him  he  was  too  severe. 
'  Well,'  said  he,  '  pardon  me,  if  you  think  so,  and  hereafter  I 
will  speak  of  them  in  the  language  of  Scripture  :  "  The  best  of 
them  is  as  a  briar  ;  the  most  upright  is  sharper  than  a  thorn- 
hedge."  '  I  told  him  he  was  worse  and  worse  ;  that  there  were 
many  excellent  people  here,  —  the  Wells'  and  Nortons'  and 
Hines'.  '  0,'  said  he,  '  those  are  the  hill  folks,  —  very  differ 
ent  people ;  but  the  new  cloth  on  the  old  garment  only  makes 
the  rent  worse.'  But  the  good  women  here,  I  added,  the  pray 
ing  women,  are  the  strength  of  the  church.  '  Yes,'  said  he, 
bitterly;  '  Moulton  and  Co.  are  quite  willing  their  wives 
should  do  the  praying,  if  they  may  be  allowed  to  make  tho 
money.' 

"  There  is  too  much  truth  in  this.  0,  why  is  our  lot  cast 
among  such  a  people  ! 

"  November  30?A.  —  Thanksgiving  week  has  just  closed. 
Edward  struggled  hard  over  his  sermon.  Monday,  Mr.  M. 
brought  a  load  of  hay,  at  the  highest  market  price.  It  proves 
to  be  musty,  damaged  in  the  curing.  He  was  anxious  Mr. 
Vcrnon  should  not  trouble  himself  to  see  to  the  unloading. 
So  goes  our  salary.  No  wonder  the  poor  minister  found  it 
hard  to  write  a  Thanksgiving  sermon. 

"  We  had  very  little  sent  in  for  our  table  ;  nothing  like  tho 
lil«ral  gifts  of  our  old  people.  Mr.  C.  says,  'They  are  saving 
16 


182  THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OR, 

themselves  for  a  splendid  manifestation  at  New- Years.'  The 
snow  being  very  deep,  I  rode  home  from  church  with  good 
Mrs.  Norton.  She  said  something  about  my  chicken-pie.  J 
told  her  my  chicken-pie,  this  year,  would  have  to  be  an  oyster 
soup.  In  her  artless  way  she  said,  '  Have  n't  the  village  folks 
sent  you  in  any  chickens  ?  '  '  Yes,'  said  I ;  '  two,  but  they  are 
our  turkey.''  After  she  left  me,  her  husband  whipped  up  the 
horses,  and  in  half  an  hour  was  back  again  at  the  gate,  with  a 
smoking-hot  chicken-pie,  which,  he  said,  '  Mother  did  n't  know, 
this  morning,  what  she  was  making  for.  She  had  too  much 
chicken  for  the  large  one,  and  so  she  took  some  of  the  good 
pieces  and  made  a  little  one.  She  is  so  glad  she  did  it,  —  only 
she  would  have  made  it  larger  if  she  had  known  it  was  for  the 
minister's  folks.'  I  was  so  childish  as  to  shed  tears  over  that 
little  pie.  My  feelings  were  made  very  tender  by  the  occa 
sion.  It  was  the  first  time  since  our  marriage  that  we  had 
kept  '  the  feast '  alone.  I  was  a  little  homesick.  0  !  these 
way-marks  in  life  are  touching  remembrancers  of  the  past ! 

"  December.  —  I  have  persuaded  Edward  to  have  a  new 
overcoat.  He  hesitated  long,  and  asked  many  questions  about 
my  wardrobe.  It  is  the  first  time,  he  says,  since  he  entered 
the  ministry,  that  he  did  not  feel  able  to  purchase  an  article  of 
clothing  whenever  he  needed  it.  He  says  my  cloak  is  quite  as 
shabby  as  his  outside  garment.  This  is  no  news  to  me ;  yet 
his  apparel  is  of  more  consequence  than  mine.  Besides,  I  can 
turn  my  cloak,  and  have  it  nearly  as  bright  as  new.  It  was 
a  part  of  my  bridal  outfit,  and  of  the  nicest  quality.  It  was 
time  for  a  new  one  last  winter ;  but  I  was  laid  aside  so  early, 
and  confined  so  much  of  the  winter,  that  I  postponed  the  pur 
chase.  It  seems  strange  to  me  to  deny  myself —  not  luxuries ; 
that  I  have  often  done  —  but  comforts  and  even  necessaries. 
Yet,  an  apostle  took  pleasure  in  necessities  fur  Jesus'  sake  ! 
0,  for  more  of  the  apostolic  spirit,  —  Christ  in  all  things,  and 
all  for  his  sake  ! 

"  December.  —  Mrs.  Elton  called  to  say,  if  it  was  agreeable 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  183 

the  people  -would  make  their  donation  visit  at  New- Year's,  a 
week  from  to-day,  afternoon  and  evening.  She  desired  me  to 
prepare  nothing  for  the  occasion,  —  they  would  take  care  of 
themselves.  Our  curiosity  puts  us  on  the  'quivive;'  but  a 
week  is  not  long  to  wait. 

"  I  put  scissors  to  my  old  cloak  to-day.  Perhaps  I  may  as 
well  lay  it  aside  now,  till  after  New-Years'." 

"  January  od.  —  The  great  event  came  off  as  was  expected. 
It  was  really,  in  many  respects,  a  handsome  affair,  with  a  good 
many  curious  incidents.  Yesterday  we  computed  the  value  of 
the  gifts.  Cash,  fifteen  dollars  (the  times  are  getting  hard) ; 
staple  articles,  »about  twenty  dollars  ;  and  other  things,  which 
Edward  calls  '  notions,'  if  estimated  according  to  their  act 
ual  cost,  swell  the  whole  to  seventy-five  dollars.  Many  of 
the  latter  are  useful  articles,  and  others  ornamental.  It  is 
pleasant  to  have  such  things ;  but  we  could  do  very  well  with 
out  them.  Still,  we  value  them  highly  as  gifts  of  friendship. 
We  should  look  upon  them  with  unmingled  satisfaction,  if  our 
salary  were  promptly  paid,  and  in  a  way  to  support  us  well. 
As  it  is,  there  is  a  drawback  to  our  pleasure  ;  for  it  is  evident 
the  people  design  this  as  an  offset  to  the  deficiency  of  our 
support.  They  are  congratulating  themselves  and  us  on  the 
result  of  the  gathering.  '  Seventy-five  dollars  !  they  ought  to 
live  now.'  This  I  know  is  the  feeling.  As  two  beautiful 
China  vases  were  presented,  and  placed  on  the  parlor  mantel, 
Mr.  Clifton  whispered  me,  'They  cost  all  of  seven  dollars; 
you  will  be  able  to  live  now.'  However,  it  was  a  pleasant 
gathering,  and  furnishes  materials  for  gratitude  and  joy.  I 
must  leave  journalizing  and  write  tiie  particulars  to  father  and 
sister  Harriet." 

From  the  letter  here  alluded  to,  and  from  other  sources,  wo 
get  so  vivid  an  idea  of  the  donation  party,  that  we  lay  down 
the  diary,  and  take  up  again  the  historian's  pen,  that  the  world 
may  not  lose  the  record  of  so  bright  a  feature  in  "  life  at  tha 
parsonage." 


184  TOT:  SHADY  SIDE;  OR, 

It  was  New -Year's  day,  with  a  clear,  frosty  air  and  a  tine 
snow-path.  The  inmates  of  the  parsonage  were  astir  at  an 
early  hour.  "  Miss  Polly  "  moved  energetically  round,  under 
an  awful  sense  of  responsibility.  She  had  assisted  Mrs.  Smith 
on  a  similar  occasion,  and  she  gave  significant  hints  of  "  such 
doings  as  would  astonish  Mrs.  Vernon,  if  she  never  saw  a  dona 
tion  party."  Mrs.  Vernon  was  not  alarmed  ;  but  she  looked 
on  with  a  curious  eye,  as  "  Miss  Polly  "  climbed  to  the  top  of 
the  pantry,  and,  clearing  off  bottles  and  broken  dishes,  moved 
everything  from  the  lower  shelves,  a  peg  higher  ;  muttering  all 
the  while,  that  "  they  did  n't  build  parsonage  pantries  larger, 
when  they  expected  to  have  such  times." 

"  You  forget,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  that  they  would  then  be 
a  world  too  wide  for  every  day  in  the  year  but  one." 

This  notable  house-keeper  had  been  scrubbing  and  scouring  a 
week,  but  She  still  found  more  of  the  same  kind  to  do.  She 
was  conscious  that  this  was  to  be  a  great  day  in  her  domain. 
She  said,  "  If  there  should  be  a  cobweb  left,  Mrs.  Martin  would 
be  sure  to  see  it ;  or  a  grease  spot,  Dolly  Goodyear  would  make 
it  a  town-talk." 

Dinner  was  dispensed  with  ;  and,  after  an  early  lunch,  extra 
fires  were  built ;  all  superfluous  articles,  likely  to  be  in  the  way, 
removed  to  the  back  chambers,  the  front  passage  to  which  was 
securely  fastened.  The  children  were  dressed,  and  all  was 
expectation. 

Presently  the  "  General's  "  man  and  boy  came  across  with  a 
basket  of  crockery,  from  the  store  ;  and  Mrs.  Moulton's  colored 
girl  was  not  far  behind,  on  the  same  errand.  Nest  came  chairs, 
—  two  or  three  dozen.  Then  the  first  sleigh-load  from  the  hill 
side,  followed  quickly  by  another ;  and  now  the  plot  thickens. 
Cloaks  and  bonnets  multiply  in  the  dressing-rooms  ;  baskets  in 
the  kitchen  :  horses  in  the  carriage-room  and  wood-house  ;  and 
the  hum  of  voices,  and  the  merry  laugh,  and  the  tramp  of  feet, 
are  heard  from  parlor  to  kitchen. 

Now,  tho  mistress  of  the  parsonage  needs  the  gift  of  ubiquity, 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSON  AGE.  185 

She  is  wanted  everywhere  at  once.  Mr.  Vernon  meets  the 
guests  at  the  door ;  but,  once  past  the  threshold,  all  system 
is  discarded.  Some  ascend  to  the  chambers  used  as  dressing- 
rooms,  and  return  anon  to  be  ushered  into  "  presence  '  with  all 
the  formality  of  a  fashionable  party.  Others,  with  baskets, 
budgets,  packages  in  paper  or  napkin,  proceed  first  to  the 
kitchen  with  their  precious  frei^it.  Hence,  as  Mrs.  Vernon 
advances  to  greet  a  formal  guest,  some  old  lady,  in  cloak  and 
hood,  comes  between  them  with  her  basket,  and  pushes  the 
minister's  wife  before  her  to  the  kitchen,  whispering  her 
"  sorrow  that  her  biscuits  should  have  burned  a  little  on  the 
bottom."  As  she  is  returning  to  those  who  still  await  her  salu 
tation,  another  good  body  pulls  her  by  the  sleeve  into  the  bed 
room,  to  present  her  gift  of  stocking-yarn ;  detaining  her  to 
open  the  package  and  explain  that  the  crimson  skein  is  for  the 
children,  and  the  blue  for  Mr.  Vernon. 

Soon  there  is  an  outcry  for  "  Mrs.  Vernon."  She  is  wanted 
in  the  parlor.  Answering  the  call,  she  finds  a  new  group  has 
arrived,  between  whom  and  the  door  Mr.  Vernon  is  dividing 
his  attentions.  Scarcely  has  she  bidden  them  welcome,  ere  she 
is  summoned  to  the  kitchen  ;  and  the  ladies,  perceiving  the 
nature  of  the  call,  follow  en  masse.  The  General's  man  has 
come  again, —  this  time  with  Mrs.  Elton  and  her  basket  of 
provisions ;  her  husband  will  not  leave  his  business  till  a  later 
hour.  Everybody  expects  to  look  at  what  Mrs.  Elton  brings  ; 
and  though  she  unloads  the  basket  with  a  nonchalant  air,  sho 
knows  full  well  that  many  eyes  are  peering  over  her,  and  that 
every  article  will  be  duly  chronicled.  When  the  last  biscuit  is 
out,  she  takes  the  elegant  damask  oloth,  and  laying  it  carelessly 
on  the  tal  .le,  says,  "  You  may  put  my  dishes,  Polly,  by  them 
selves.  The  table-cloth  you  need  not  return  to  the  basket ;  it 
is  for  Mrs.  Vernon."  There  is  \io  more  to  be  seen,  and  the 
stream  settles  back  again  toward  the  parlor,  —  "Miss  Polly" 
holding  Mrs.  Vernon  by  the  sleeve  to  deliver  some  of  the  many 
S  with  which  she  had  been  laden  Mrs.  A.  charged 
16* 


186  THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OK, 

her  to  toll  that  she  brought  this  ball  of  butter ;  and  Mrs.  B.  to 
apologize  for  her  brittle  frosting ;  and  Mrs.  C.  to  mention  that 
this  frozen  spare-rib  would  need  cooking  soon,  if  there  should 
come  a  thaw. 

Meanwhile,  a  group  ol  young  ladies  were  busy  with  the 
children  in  the  nursery,  to  which  Allie's  energetic  calls  of 
"  Mama  "  soon  brought  her.  Jennie  Moulton  had  coaxed  him 
to  stay  with  her ;  but  when  one  lady  fried  upon  him  a  new 
apron,  and  another  a  sack,  and  a  third  tied  a  string  of  con>l 
in  his  sleeve,  the  little  fellow  became  alarmed,  and  rebelled 
against  this  mysterious  kindness. 

.Not  so  his  gentle  sister.  As  one  gift  after  another  was 
lavished  on  her,  her  simple  "  Thank  you,  ma'am ;  't  is  very 
pretty,"  was  uttered  with  a  self-possession  and  a  grace  that 
called  forth  many  exclamations  at  her  maturity." 

"  How  quietly  that  child  takes  everything  ! "  said  Mrs.  Wal 
ter;  "  my  little  girls  would  be  in  ecstasies. 

By  four  o'clock  the  guests  are  all  in ;  the  pastor  and  his 
wife  begin  to  breathe  more  freely,  being  at  liberty  now  to  "  do 
the  agreeable  "  in  the  way  of  social  converse.  No  light  task  is 
it  to  promote  ease  and  sociability  among  so  numerous  a  com 
pany,  from  all  classes  in  society,  who  meet  in  a  social  way  but 
once  a  year,  and  whose  extremes  are  rife,  the  one  with  cold 
exclusiveness,  the  other  with  rankling  jealousy.  Yet,  so  far  as 
it  can  be  done,  our  pastor  and  his  wife  are  the  persons  to  suc 
ceed.  Polite  to  all,  with  a  quick  appreciation  of  the  position 
of  every  guest,  they  were  particularly  careful  to  shield  the 
sensibility  of  the  humble,  encourage  the  timid,  and  bring  about 
pleasant  greetings  between  those  who  seldom  met  on  a  common 
platform.  With  the  best  success,  there  would  be  some  friction 
and  a  few  heartburnings.  The  Seldens  wondered  Mrs.  Vernon 
should  think  it  needful  to  bestow  so  much  attention  on  some 
kinds  of  people.  And  Mrs.  Vernon  was  quite  willing,  if  there 
must  be  fault-finding,  that  it  should  be  at  that  e>id  of  the  social 
scale. 


LIFE    IX    A    COUNTRY    PARSON  AGE.  187 

Another  hour  passes,  and  now  there  is  a  stir  about  the  sup 
per.  A  number  of  ladies  volunteer  to  serve,  and,  with  two  or 
three  at  the  helm,  are  under  full  sail  for  the  kitchen  and  pantry. 
Mrs.  Vernon  follows,  but  is  sent  back  with  many  mirthful 
protestations  that  she  is  quite  in  the  way,  and  they  cannot  huve 
her  there.  There  is  much  haste  and  bustle,  but  the  real  prog 
ress  is  slow,  there  are  so  many  consultations  to  be  held,  and 
various  episodes  enacted.  "  Shall  coffee  be  made  for  the  gen 
tlemen  ?  and,  was  this  new  article  of  chocolate  designed  for  to 
day  ?  and,  are  those  cold  boiled  meats  to  be  served  ? "  One 
"doubts,"  and  another  says  "Yes,"  and  another,  still,  "No,  what 
do  we  want  of  meat?"  And  the  last  question  is  referred  back 
to  a  committee  of  the  whole.  The  murmur  reaches  the  gentle 
men,  who  are  discussing  the  causes  of  the  near  commercial 
crisis,  when  Mr.  Elton,  whose  "corporation"  claims  are  not  to 
be  disputed,  lays  his  hands,  with  mock  solemnity,  on  his  stom 
ach,  and  says  he  "  feels  a  great  interest  in  the  question  the  ladies 
arc  about  to  settle.  A  slice  of  cold  ham,  such  hungry  weather 
as  this,  is  not  to  be  despised." 

Amid  much  merriment,  the  ladies  return  to  cut  up  the  ham 
and  tongue.  Behind  the  scene  all  sorts  of  feeling  find  expres 
sion,  at  the  investigation  of  the  materials  for  supper.  "  How 
beautiful !  "  and  "  How  mean  !  "  "I  never  saw  the  like ! "  and 
"I'm  heartily  ashamed!"  " 'T  was  just  like  her!"  "It's 
as  well  as  she  knew  how,"  &c.  &c.  Some  of  the  edibles  have 
a  suspicious  look,  and  are  thrust  aside  into  the  closet.  One 
whole  basketful  is  pronounced  unfit  to  appear ;  —  they  are 
put  under  a  bread-bowl,  that  they  may  seem  to  have  been 
overlooked.  Nor  is  this  the  only  "  pious  fraud "  thought 
needful.  Some  things  provoke  mirth ;  others  excite  indigna 
tion.  Mrs.  Walter  laughs  till  the  tears  stand  on  her  fat  little 
chei-ks.  Mrs.  Norton's  face  burns  with  inward  disquiet,  that 
there  arc  no  more  substantial  gifts,  foreseeing  that,  after  two 
suppers,  the  larder  will  be  lean. 

When,  at  length,  with  the  most  skilful  tactics,  the  provisions 


188  THE   SHADY   SIDE;    OR, 

were  sot  forth,  the  first  impression  is  that  of  dbui<dame ;  the 
Second,  of  variety.  The  collation,  in  its  want  of  homogeneous 
ness,  not  inaptly  represented  th.3  parish.  Here  was  a  plate  of 
generous  biscuit,  in  reference  to  which,  "  the  General,"  when 
asked  to  take  another,  said  "  One  loaf  of  bread  was  all  he 
needed  at  a  meal."  There,  a  plate  of  Liliputian  size,  sufficiently 
delicate  for  the  lady  that  "  once  ate  a  pea."  Between  were 
all  sorts  and  sizes,  some  well  embrowned,  and  others  pale  as  if 
the  sun  had  not  lighted  on  them,  nor  any  heat.  The  cake,  too ! 
—  none  but  a  botanist  could  fail  to  wonder  at  the  multitude  of 
species  under  one  genus.  Here  were  loaf-cake  and  pound,  fruit 
and  sponge,  silver-cake  and  gold,  lemon  and  citron,  —  in  pyra 
mids,  in  circles,  in  squares  and  parallelograms,  —  some  solid 
and  spicy,  others  inflated  to  a  rare  size,  yet  found  to  be  a  taste 
less  puff;  a  few  both  rich  and  good.  There  were  cookies  in 
hearts,  and  oak-leaves,  and  diamonds;  drop-cakes  and  jumbles; 
crullers  and  doughnuts.  Butter  was  set  on  in  various  stamped 
balls,  and  an  elaborate  pine-apple  pyramid,  which,  it  was  whis 
pered,  was  merely  on  exhibition,  and  by  no  means  to  be  meddled 
with. 

The  table'  service  partook  of  the  same  motley  character. 
Mrs.  Vernon's  fine  porcelain  was  replaced  in  the  closet  as  too 
choice  for  the  liabilities  of  the  occasion.  The  ladies  who  served 
the  liquids  had  no  nice  bump  of  harmony.  At  first  some  order 
was  observed;  but,  as  demands  multiplied,  here  was  a  large 
brown  coffee-cup  in  a  small  white  saucer,  bearing  half  a  pint  of 
tea  to  some  fashionable  lady ;  there  a  tiny  tea-cup,  with  choco 
late  or  coffee,  passed  among  the  gentlemen.  Mr.  Elton  con 
fused  the  young  girl  that  served  him,  by  asking  her  to  bring 
the  second  cup  in  her  thimble.  Plates,  too,  of  all  colors  and 
sizes,  indiscriminately  distributed,  gave  a  unique  appearance 
to  the  various  groups.  But  why  weary  further  the  reader's 
patience  ? 

Supper  ended,  Mrs.  Yernon  was  asked  to  play  and  sing; 
after  which,  the  minister  made,  to  the  hushed  throng,  a  brief, 


UFJE   IN    A   COUN1RY   PARSONAGE.  189 

pertinent  address,  suited  to  the  festive  occasion  and  the  opening 
year,  with  a  graceful  acknowledgment  of  their  timely  gifts; 
then  commended  them  in  prayer  to  the  God  of  all  the  families 
of  the  earth. 

As  the  fathers  and  mothers  left  the  parsonage,  the  moonlight 
fell  on  the  cold  snow,  in  striking  contrast  to  the  complacent, 
cheerful  faces,  that  told  of  a  warm  glow  at  the  heart. 

But  this  was  not  the  end.  Other  guests  were  expected  in 
the  evening,  —  among  them  the  young  men  of  the  village,  —  and 
the  girls  waited  to  receive  them.  Part  busied  themselves  in 
clearing  away  the  tables;  another  circle  surround  the  piano; 
while  a  dozen  of  the  gayest,  most  restless  spirits,  set  off  on  an 
exploring  expedition  through  the  house.  Presently  there  was 
an  irruption  through  the  back  chambers,  and  a  game  of  romp 
up  to  the  attic.  Was  not  the  house  the  property  of  the 
parish  ? 

"  You  '11  believe  me  now,  Mrs.  Vernon,"  said  Miss  Polly. 
"  I  told  you  what  kind  o'  doings  you  might  expect.  Hear 
them  girls,  now !  Some  on  'em  must  ha'  gone  up  the  kitchen 
way,  and  unlocked  that  door.  Here's  Mr.  Vernon.  Now,  if 
I  was  the  minister,  I  "d  go  up  and  give  'em  a  ra'al  serious  talk." 

A  sudden  thought  struck  the  minister,  as  the  young  girls' 
musical  laugh  rung  down  the  passages.  Said  he,  — 

"  Miss  Polly,  I  thank  you  for  the  hint ;  I  will  go  up  imme 
diately." 

The  young  ladies  in  the  kitchen  looked  troubled,  but  Mary'i 
smile  dispelled  their  fears. 

As  Mr.  Vcrnon  ascended  the  stairs,  the  girls,  much  abashed, 
retreated  behind  the  chimncjs,  —  all  but  Jennie  Moulton,  who 
was  too  self-possessed  to  run  away. 

"  Ah !  Miss  Jennie,"  said  he,  "  you  have  won  the  palm  for 
bravery."  Tlie  girls,  reassured  by  his  voice,  ventured  back. 
"  Young  ladies,  you  are  suffering  for  want  of  exercise.  Come, 
now,"  —  taking  down  a  swing  from  under  the.  square  roof,— • 
"  which  of  you  shall  I  have  the  honor  of  swinging  first  ?"  Tho 


190  THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OR, 

young  ladies  looked  doubtfully  at  each  other.  "  What  could  it 
mean  ? "  Jennie  was  soon  seated,  and,  as  she  seemed  to  enjoy 
the  amusement,  others  tock  courage  and  followed  her,  still 
watching  the  minister's  face,  that  wore  a  grave,  undefinable 
expression,  though  they  were  almost  sure  there  was  mischief  in 
his  eye.  Half-shy,  yet  fascinated,  they  each  took  their  turn 
at  the  swing.  "  And  now,"  said  he,  "  Miss  Jennie,  if  they  ask 
you  about  this,  down  stairs,  you  will  tell  them  how  well  I  have 
done  my  duty."  Jonnie  thought  she  understood  it  now.  He 
then  asked  them  to  his  study,  leading  the  way  himself.  Some 
of  them  shrank  from  entering.  A  minister's  study,  they 
thought  must  be  an  awfully  solemn  place.  He  told  them  he 
hoped  they  were  not  afraid  of  him  now ;  and  again  they  caught 
that  look,  half-grave,  half-humorous,  which  Fanny  Elton  after 
wards  declared  was  quite  irresistible.  So  they  followed  him  in, 
and  he  showed  them  some  fine  engravings,  and  they  looked  over 
the  library  till  the  twilight  was  gone,  and  their  companions  from 
below  summoned  them  to  the  parlors.  The  girls  pronounced 
this  the  best  part  of  the  visit.  They  had  a  new  topic  to  talk 
about,  —  the  gallantry  of  their  grave  young  minister.  Hence 
forth  he  was  immortalized  among  them. 

The  little  French  clock  struck  twelve  before  Mary's  head 
pressed  the  pillow,  —  the  close  of  the  most  fatiguing  day  in  all 
her  past  remembrance. 

The  next  day  little  was  done  but  to  rest  and  reexanfine  the 
gifts.  As  to  provisions,  the  hundred  and  fifty  guests  had  left 
many  fragments,  from  which  more  than  one  poor  family  were 
bountifully  regaled.  So  all  that  goodly  table  show  left  them 
no  richer  at  the  parsonage.  But  the  hams  of  beef  and  pork, 
the  butter,  cheese  and  lard,  the  apples  and  potatoes,  were  as 
good  as  cash.  The  young  men  brought  the  money ;  there  were 
various  useful  articles  of  apparel ;  a  good  store  of  groceries, 
and  a  fine  assortmciit  of  writing-paper.  But  many  of  the  gifts, 
though  pleasant  mementoes  of  affection,  were,  as  Mary  said, 
things  they  could  do  very  well  without  Yet  they  swelled  the 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  191 

estimate  of  substantial  aid  which  the  people  took  the  credit  of 
rendering  to  their  minister.  Let 's  see  :  —  there  were  materials, 
beautifully  embroidered  for  three  pairs  of  slippers ;  there  were 
nearly  twice  that  number  of  card-baskets,  of  various  forms  and 
fabrics  ;  a  beautiful  papier-mache  portfolio,  and  a  port-monnaie 
to  match ;  lamp-mats,  crochet'ed  and  netted ;  three  or  four 
watch-receivers,  and  as  many  tidy-spreads ;  paper-folders,  of 
pearl  and  ivory  ;  pen-wipers  and  tablets ;  a  set  of  nut-pickers ; 
an  expensive  coflfec-urn,  and  a  silver  fruit-knife ;  a  solar  lamp, 
and  a  book  of  splendid  engravings.  If  they  can't  Hoe  now  ! 

Before  closing  this  chapter,  we  make  a  few  more  extracts 
from  the  diary. 

"Jan.  —  Have  received  a  long  call  from  Mrs.  Moulton.  She 
talked  very  feelingly  about  our  circumstances,  and  the  ex 
penses  of  living  in  Millville.  I  had  my  cloak  spread  upon  tho 
carpet,  all  turned  and  ready  to  be  transformed  into  the  style  of 
the  season.  She  advised  me  to  put  it  together  again  without 
cutting,  —  it  would  be  so  nice  to  ride  in,  and  every  one  needs 
a  second  best.  I  told  her  this  must  be  my  only  outside  gar 
ment  for  the  winter.  She  said,  '  No ;  I  must  go  to  the  store 
with  her,  and  select  material  for  a  new  cloak.  She  would  have 
brought  it  on  the  1st,  only  she  thought  some  one  else  might  do  the 
same.'  How  blest  we  are  in  such  a  friend  !  Her  way  of  bestow 
ing  favors  is  so  beautiful,  —  very  different  from  Mrs.  Elton'?. 
She  gives  like  a  queen,  —  Mrs.  Moulton  like  a  mother  or  sister. 

"Feb.  1st.  —  An  incident  has  occurred  which  tried  me  much. 
I  have  said  some  harsh  thing?, — perhaps  indulged  a  wrong 
spirit ;  but  the  provocation  is  great,  and  I  find  it  difficult  to 
analyze  my  emotions.  Mr.  Holcomb,  a  cabinet-maker,  —  a  mer 
curial  little  man,  and  a  member  of  our  church, — has,  it  seems,  n 
thievish  cow,  which  he  allows  to  prowl  about  the  village,  to  the 
annoyance  of  those  who  keep  open  yard  or  stable.  Having  had 
supper  repeatedly  from  Mr.  Elton's  meal-tubs,  he  threatened 
last  week  to  impound  her  at  the  next  trespass.  It  soon 


192  THE    SHADY    SIDE  J     OR, 

occurred  ;  and  as  the  officer  was  escorting  the  offender  to  safe 
keeping,  her  owner  appeared,  and  made  a  furious  onset  for  her 
deliverance,  —  effecting  which,  he  went  off  with  flying  colors. 
Mr.  Elton  followed,  demanding  the  officer's  fee,  and  forewarn 
ing  him  of  the  consequences  of  a  refusal.  Next  morning,  ho 
received  a  writ,  and,,  alarmed  at  the  prospect  of  a  lawsuit,  he 
went  first  to  Mr.  Elton,  then  came  to  report  him  to  the  minis 
ter,  declaring  that  he  was  persecuted  because  he  was  a  poor 
man.  Mr.  Vernon  reminded  him  he  had  just  said  the  proceed 
ings  would  be  stopped,  if  he  would  pay  the  costs  thus  far,  and 
advised  him  to  do  it  without  delay ;  thus  avoiding  the  double 
evil  of  a  needless  waste  of  money,  and  the  scandal  of  a  lawsuit 
between  brethren.  But  he  was  too  angry  for  this,  and  declared 
he  would  not  pay  a  cent  till  compelled  to.  One  might  as  well 
have  reasoned  with  a  hurricane.  He  wanted  the  minister  to 
compel  '  the  General,'  to  let  him  off.  Edward  went  to  Mr. 
Elton  ;  he  was  inflexible.  Holcomb  had  presumed  on  his  too- 
easy  nature,  and  the  neighborhood  would  be  glad  to  have  him 
taught  a  lesson ;  yet,  as  he  told  him,  if  he  would  pay  the  costs 
(a  dollar  and  a  quarter),  the  thing  should  be  settled.  Entering 
Mr.  Holcomb's,  he  found  the  wife  in  tears  at  the  prospect  of  a 
loss  which  their  scanty  resources  would  not  bear  without  dimin 
ishing  their  common  comforts.  She  implored  Mr.  Vernon's 
help.  Edward  asked  Mr.  Holcomb  how  much  he  would  give  to 
settle  it ;  he  threw  down  twenty-five  cents,  saying  that  was  all. 
Mr.  Vernon  took  it,  and,  adding  to  it  the  only  dollar  he  pos 
sessed,  offered  the  sum  to  Mr.  Elton,  with  the  inquiry  if  that 
would  stay  proceedings.  He  said  '  Yes,'  and  pocketed  the 
money  without  further  questions !  This  is  enough  to  make  one 
ashamed  of  human  nature.  I  cannot  think  Edward  was  called 
upon  to  do  it.  Between  a  man  worth  his  thousands,  and  a 
thankless  madcap,  his  poor  purse  must  be  emptied,  and  a  whole 
morning's  study  interrupted.  I  know  his  motive ;  but  I  think, 
as  the  lawyers  say,  '  It  was  travelling  out  of  the  record,'  — 
loving  his  neighbor  Letter  than  himself.  Tie  says,  if  the  repu- 


LIFE    IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  198 

tation  and  peace  of  the  church  had  not  been  involved  he  would 
not  have  done  it.  Both  those  men  must  have  had  their 
suspicion  that  the  thing  was  settled  at  his  expense,  and  they 
know  his  straitened  circumstances.  '  Oh  !  it  is  —  but  I  forbear, 
my  poor  Journal,  to  inflict  on  you  more  bitter  words. 

"  February  2Sth.  —  We  had  occasion  for  a  new  bedstead, 
which  Mr.  Vernon  purchased  of  Taylor  instead  of  Holcomb;  the 
atter  is  so  displeased  at  this,  that  he  will  not  speak  to  his  min 
ister,  or  see  him  in  the  street.  I  said  to  Edward,  '  Is  this  th<t 
fruit  of  your  dollar  ? "  He  replied,  with  a  meekness  that 
touched  me,  '  I  have  had  my  reward.' 

"  March  1st.  —  Am  sorry  to  add  another  cosmoramic  view 
from  the  dark  side  of  the  landscape.  Mr.  D.  (the  bachelor) 
passed  the  door,  and  stopped  to  say  that  some  time  he  would 
like  an  '  order '  for  those  potatoes.  He  brought  them  last  fall, 
—  half-a-dozen  bushels,  —  and  declined  a  settlement  for  them 
then,  saying  '  It  was  no  matter  about  it.'  We  thought  he 
must  intend  them  for  a  present.  They  were  at  that  time 
twenty-five  cents  a  bushel.  Now,  when  he  required  the  order, 
Mr.  Vernon  asked  him  for  how  much.  '  O,'  said  he  carelessly, 
'  it  will  be  just  three  dollars,  won't  it  ?  Potatoes  are  selling 
now  for  fifty  cents  a  bushel.'  Edward  was  confounded,  and  wrote 
the  order  without  saying  a  word.  It  must  have  been  a  matter  of 
calculation,  as  that  just  pays  for  his  seat  in  church.  It  is  a  bare 
faced  imposition,  to  which  I  told  Edward  he  ought  not  to  submit. 
Such  things  disturb  my  equanimity  more  than  I  should  have 
once  supposed  possible.  '  Let  patience  have  her  perfect  work.' 
Alas !  I  sadly  need  to  refortify  myself  at  the  celestial  armory. 

"  March  Sth.  —  The  anniversary  of  my  dear  Carrie's  death. 
It  has  been  a  sad  day  to  me.  Memory  recalls  all  the  past, 
connecU'il  with  that  precious  name,  —  from  my  first  glimpse  of 
the  childish  face,  so  wondrously  beautiful,  to  the  last  look 
beneath  the  coffin-lid.  0,  if  this  were  all-! — if  there  were 
no  after-memories  to  trouble  the  clear  fountain  which  death 
left  so  peaceful !  How  the  heart  longs,  at  times,  for  the  quick 

n 


194  THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OR, 

coming  of  that  day  which  shall  correct  all  misunderstandings 
between  those  who  should  be,  and  have  been,  allied  in  the 
closest  bonds  '  My  little  Abby  has  been  listening  to  the  story 
of  Carrie  with  an  interest  altogether  beyond  her  infant  years ; 
and  when  she  asked  me,  in  her  serious  way,  '  Why  should  you 
cry,  mama,  if  Carrie  was  so  good,  and  they  wanted  her  in 
heaven  ? '  my  fond  heart,  for  a  moment,  foreboded  a  sorer  be 
reavement.  '  Out  of  the  mouth  of  babes  and  sucklings  hast 
thou  ordained  praise.' " 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"  Ah  !  storms  and  wintry  weather 
Are  never  absent  long." 

"  What  sect 

Within  the  church,  what  party  in  the  state, 
Minutely  in  the  parish  imaged  forth, 
Shall  find  in  him  its  ally'?  " 

WHILE  our  friends  of  the  parsonage  were  nerving  themselves 
to  bear  the  thickening  evils  of  their  allotment,  they  were  des 
tined  to  receive  a  shock  to  their  sensibilities  from  an  unexpected 
quarter.  We  have  already  spoken  of  Mary's  half-brother, 
Henry,  the  city  merchant.  Led  by  a  gay  and  fashionable  wife, 
his  style  of  living  subjected  him  to  large  expenditures,  which, 
with  some  reverses  in  business,  plunged  him  into  embarrass 
ments  of  the  most  threatening  nature.  In  this  emergency,  he 
borrowed  his  father's  credit  to  strengthen  his  own,  and  postpone 
the  crisis  by  the  aid  of  a  few  thousands,  raised  in  MaySeld. 
He  had  then  some  faint  hope  of  eventually  extricating  himself; 
but  as  this  grew  less,  and  his  perplexity  increased,  an  organio 
disease,  which  had  been  long  lying  in  wait  for  him,  suddenly 
put  an  end  to  his  days  ;  he  died  insolvent.  The  beautiful  homo 
in  Mayfield  would  barely  cover  the  amount  in  which  Dr.  Alli 
son  was  holden  for  his  son.  In  a  letter  to  his  daughter,  among 


LIFE    IN    A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  195 

other  things  he  says  :  "  The  creditors  are  very  considerate 
toward  me,  and  Avill  leave  the  place  in  my  hands ;  but  it  is  no 
longer  mine.  For  myself,  I  am  growing  old,  and  shall  soon 
need  but  a  few  feet  of  ground.  Harriet  has  her  portion  from 
her  mother  unencumbered.  For  you,  dear  Mary,  I  had  fondly 
dreamed  to  make  comfortable  provision,  knowing  how  slender 
arc  the  means  of  a  minister's  support.  This  hope  is  crossed. 
Well,  —  the  Lord  knows  what  is  best,  and  he  has,  I  trust, 
something  in  store  for  you,  far  better  than  perishable  treasures. 
I  rejoice  that  your  heart  is  not  set  on  these,  my  daughter.  I 
thank  God  for  the  belief  that  his  favor  far  transcends,  in  your 
regard,  an  earthly  portion,  —  yea,  that  you  are  willing  to  forego 
any  worldly  good  for  the  sake  of  Christ  and  souls.  The  dis 
comforts  of  your  present  field  of  labor,  it  would  seem,  are 
increasing ;  but  keep  up  heart,  my  dear  girl ;  encourage  your 
husband.  The  darker  it  grows  without,  the  brighter  keep  the 
light  on  his  domestic  altar,  —  the  light,  not  of  human  love  only, 
but  of  heavenly  hope,  and  Christian  trust.  Like  the  wise  virgins, 
keep  oil  in  reserve,  ready  for  the  neediest  hour.  O  !  why 
should  we  not  take  joyfully  the  spoiling  of  our  goods,  knowing 
that  we  have  another  and  an  enduring  inheritance?" 

Mary  felt  deeply  afflicted  by  these  tidings.  She  felt  for 
sister  Ellen,  widowed  and  childless  and  reduced  to  penury. 
She  sympathized  deeply  with  her  beloved  and  revered  parent. 
She  felt  for  herself  as  if  a  blow  had  unsettled  the  foundations 
of  her  earthly  security.  She  knew  not,  till  now,  what  a  prop, 
amid  their  fluctuating  circumstances,  was  the  feeling  that  she 
had  a  father's  house  to  fall  back  upon,  whatever  might  betide. 

The  expiration  of  another  half  year  at  Millville  was  at  hand. 
It  was  rumored  that  the  society's  treasury  was  yet  empty. 
Mr.  Vernon  had  been  some  time  inclined  to  seek  another 
field ;  yet  he  feared  the  reputation  of  restlessness  and  discon 
tent.  Should  the  society  prove  true  to  their  recent  engage 
ment,  he  would  try  to  hold  on  for  the  present,  and  outlive 
opposition  If  not  paid  promptly,  he  resolved  that  the  year 


196  THE   SHADY    SIDE  J    OK, 

(ecclesiastical)  should  close  his   connection  with  that   people. 
With  these  explanations  we  resume  our  extracts  from  the  Diary. 

"  March  31s£.  — The  last  day  of  this  month  of  gloom,  —  the 
saddest  month  to  me  of  all  the  year.  I  would  not,  however, 
forget  the  light  of  that  gloom,  —  a  light  not  born  of  earth. 
Thanks  for  that  light ! 

"  Returned  three  days  ago  from  Mayfield.  Have  received 
many  calls  ;  some  of  sympathy,  —  very  precious  ;  others  of  mere 
curiosity  or  cold  formality.  Our  journey  proved  rather  expen 
sive  ;  —  the  storm  delayed  us  by  the  way  one  day  and  night  at 
a  public  inn.  The  deacon  charged  by  the  mile  for  the  days  we 
travelled,  and  by  the  day  for  the  time  we  rested  ;  the  two  will 
make  a  large  item  in  our  bill  of  horse-hire.  Mr.  Clifton  enlight 
ened  us  on  this  subject ;  — Mr.  Harris  —  simple-minded  man !  — 
had  been  heard  to  say  that  '  Brother  Sydney  charged  the  minis 
ter  high,  so  as  to  help  starve'him  out.'  This  is  too  bad  to  believe. 

" April  2d.  —  Pay-day  has  come  and  gone,  and  the  society 
is  again  fifty  dollars  in  our  debt ;  and,  what  is  worse,  if  we  had 
the  money,  it  would  not  cancel  our  obligations.  Edward  haa 
written  to  his  brother  to  raise  for  him  another  hundred.  1 
hope  our  place  will  soon  be  disposed  of,  and  our  debt  extin- 
guished.  It  is  a  miserable  way  of  living ;  it  troubles  me,  I 
think,  more  than  Edward.  He  plunges  into  study  and  forgeta 
it,  —  is  laboring  hard  this  week  over  his  Fast-day  sermon. 

" April  10th.  —  The  preaching,  Friday,  made  quite  a  stir. 
Subject  —  The  example  of  Christ  as  a  citizen  ;  text  — '  Render 
therefore  unto  Caesar  the  things  that  are  Caesar's,  and  unto 
God  the  things  that  are  God's.' 

"  Mr.  Selden  is  much  offended.  He  '  wishes  ministers  would 
preach  the  gospel,  and  let  politics  alone.'  'He  is  a  large  sup 
porter,'  Mr.  Moulton  says,  '  and  it  would  be  well  to  conciliate 
him.'  Mr.  Moulton  actually  asked  Mr.  Yernon  if  he  could  n't 
give  the  subject  of  slavery  the  go-by  in  his  futuie  ministrations. 
He  knows  very  well  that  Mr.  Vernon  is  not  delving  at  that  sub- 


LIFE  IN   A   COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  197 

jeot  all  the  while.  He  goes  into  it  seldom  ;  but  when  he  does, 
he  strikes  a  strong  blow.  Mr.  Moulton  admitted  this,  but  said 
'  The  prayers  kept  the  wound  fresh.  If  he  could  only  ornrt  it 
there,  —  if  he  would  allow  him  to  say  to  Mr.  Selden  that  tho 
minister  had  pledged  himself.'  I  looked  anxiously  for  Edward's 
reply.  He  was  perfectly  calm  and  courteous,  yet  there  was 
that  in  his  eye  which  might  make  the  time-serving  Christian 
quail.  'Ah!'  said  he,  'as  to  my  praying,  I  can  give  no 
pledges.  A  believer's  prayers,  I  presume  we  shall  agree,  are 
guided  by  the  Divine  Spirit,  and  I  cannot  tell,  beforehand,  what 
he  may  put  in  my  heart  to  pray  for.'  With  some  apologies, 
Mr.  Moulton  departed,  looking  a  little  troubled. 

"  He  had  not  been  gone  an  hour,  when  the  deacons  called,  — 
or,  rather,  the  deacon  and  his  shadow.  He  expressed  his  strong 
dissent  from  the  doctrine  of  yesterday's  discourse.  The  mercury 
was  soon  up  at  « boiling  point.'  '  Talk  about  our  duties  to  tho 
state  !  We  owe  nothing  to  such  a  corrupt  government  as  ours, 
but  revolution.1  He  then  stated  the  object  of  the  call,  namely, 
the  appointment  of  a  meeting  to  debate  this  matter  before  tho 
public.  Edward,  of  course,  declined. 

"  '  So,  my  dear,  your  views  are  opposed  on  both  sides.' 

"  '  Yes,'  said  he,  '  ministers  in  my  position  on  this  subject  — 
and  there  are  not  a  few  of  us  —  find,  as  Richard  Baxter  said 
of  himself,  that  we  have  two  enemies  where  other  men  have 
but  one.  We  are  denounced  from  both  extremes.' 

"  May.  —  A  long  call  from  Mrs.  Harris.  Did  not  let  her 
go  up  to  the  study.  '  She  did  not  wish  to  dictate,  but  she  had 
hoped  the^hint  she  gave  Mr.  Vernon  would  be  improved.  He 
really  had  no  idea  of  the  immoralities  prevailing  here.'  She 
asked  me  to  help  form  a  Seventh  Commandment  Society,  and 
circulate  M'DowaH's  Journal.  I  told  her  it  did  not  strike  me 
favorably;  I  would  think  more  of  the  subject,  and  let  her 
know  the  result.  After  her  departure,  I  told  Mr.  Vernon ; 
and  he  said,  with  a  deprecating  tone.  '  0,  sister  Rachel !  why 
wilt  thou  ? ' 

17* 


198  THE    SHADY   SIDE;    OR, 

"June.  —  The  month  of  roses  has  come.  Nature  is  very 
beautiful ;  the  air  is  full  of  fragrance ;  the  hill-sides  are  luxu 
riantly  green,  and  this  beauty  is  open  to  all.  I  was  detained 
from  church  yesterday,  all  day,  by  illness.  The  factory  chil 
dren  were  lying  in  the  meadows  and  roaming  the  fields  from 
morn  till  night.  Poor  things  !  how  my  heart  ached  for  them  ! 
Shut  up  and  toiling  all  the  week  through  noise,  and  steam,  and 
dust,  no  wonder  they  are  glad  to  breathe  the  free  air  of  heaven 
one  long,  bright  day,  in  the  open  fields.  If  they  could  have  two 
Sabbaths  a  week,  one  for  the  body  and  the  other  for  the  soul, 
there  might  bo  some  hope  of  their  spiritual  culture.  As  it  is, 
the  effort  is  almost  useless.  Alas  !  there  is  wrong,  somewhere. 

"  July  1st.  —  Mr.  Vernon  asked  for  money  to-day,  but  the 
treasurer  told  the  old  story.  His  postage  has  run  two  quar 
ters,  and  he  has  nothing  to  meet  it.  Little  Abby  brought  me 
her  gold  piece,  the  last  birthday  gift  from  '  grandpa,'  and  asked 
if  she  might  give  it  to  papa.  Precious  child  !  Allie  saw  her ; 
and,  climbing  to  the  shelf  for  his  tin  box  of  pennies,  emptied 
them  into  my  lap.  I  turned  aside,  and  wept. 

"  July.  —  Have  made,  to-day,  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Nor 
ton's  sister,  Aunt  Hannah,  about  whom  I  have  heard  so  much. 
She  is  a  maiden  of  fifty ;  has  been,  as  she  says,  in  York  state, 
visiting,  the  last  year  and  a  half.  She  is  very  fond  of  minis 
ters,  and  of  gossip,  and  of  tea-drinkings.  I  suppose  she  will 
make  the  circuit  of  the  village,  and  report  herself  often  at  the 
parsonage. 

"August.  —  Everything  looks  toward  the  termination  of 
our  stay  in  Millville.  Our  salary  drags  heavily.  Opposition 
is  more  manifest  and  decided.  Edward  begins  to  reel  under 
his  heavy  burdens.  Whatever  comes,  he  is  determined  to  sus 
tain  himself  in  the  pulpit ;  but,  a  bill  presented  and  urged, 
when  the  purse  is  empty,  or  a  fresh  attack  from  these  who 
should  be  his  fellow-laborers,  sends  him  to  his  study  with  a 
heavy  heart ;  and  I  often  hear  him  pacing  the  room  a  long 
time  before  he  resumes  the  pen.  His  late  evenings,  too,  -are 


LIFE   IN    A  COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  19U 

undermining  his  health.  Then  there  are  so  many  extras,  that 
they  have  become  '  ordinaries.'  At  first,  his  people  encouraged 
him  to  preach  and  lecture  abroad  ;  latterly,  they  complain  of 
it.  Mrs.  Elton  told  him  the  other  day  that  '  there  was  a  great 
field  here  for  a  minister.  So  much  expected  out  of  the  pulpit, 
and  the  standard  of  preaching  so  high  (!),  she  thought  the 
places  around  should  be  more  considerate  than  to  call  upon  him 
so  much.'  I  suspect  Edward  is  a  little  too  independent.  Mr. 
Smith  always  consulted  her  about  these  things.  When  the 
money  faileth,  it  is  quite  convenient  to  have  the  purse  replen 
ished  by  a  lyceum  lecture. 

"Evening.  —  Since  writing  the  above,  a  letter  has  arrived 
from  a  classmate  of  Mr.  Vernon's  in  S.,  inquiring  if  he  medi- 
tatis  leaving  Millville,  and  saying  the  second  church  in  S. 
would  give  him  a  call,  if  he  were  unsettled.  This  seems  to  be 
a  critical  juncture.  The  Lord  direct  us." 

Mr.  Yernon  now  resolved  to  close  up  his  connection  with  his 
people,  without  much  delay.  While  he  was  meditating  in 
what  shape  to  bring  the  matter  before  them,  he  received  a 
hasty  summons  to  NorBeld  on  business  of  importance. 

His  brother  James  had  long  cherished  a  purpose  to  emigrate 
to  the  distant  west,  which  was  suddenly  facilitated  by  an  oppor 
tunity  to  sell  the  old  farm  and  homestead.  Edward's  affairs 
were  involved  with  his,  and  he  had  formed  a  plan  to  extricate 
them.  The  "barn  hill  lot"  would  a  little  more  than  redeem 
the  notes  held  by  Captain  Newell.  He  proposed  to  appropriate 
it  to  this  purpose,  if  Edward  would  take  his  namesake,  now  a 
fine  boy  in  his  tenth  year,  and  fit  him  for  college.  The  plan 
met  with  a  warm  approval. 

James  rejoiced  to  see  his  brother  so  hopeful  in  regard  to  the 
future,  and  encouraged  him  in  his  purpose  to  leave  Millville. 

"  And  now,  dear  Pompcy,"  said  Edward,  "  you  and  I  will 
go  home  together."  Master  Eddie  was  to  follow,  as  soon  as 
the  family  were  ready  to  start  for  W isconsin,  early  in  October. 


THE   SHADY   SIDE;    OR, 

Pompey  was  welcomed  back  with  smiles  and  tears  of  joy 
The  children  would  not  be  satisfied  till  they  had  fairly  hugged 
him  round  the  neck.  The  event  of  his  return  made  some 
talk  in  the  village.  What  mine  of  gold  had  opened  on  the 
minister's  path,  that  he  should  venture  again  on  the  old  extrav 
agance  of  keeping  a  horse  ! 

The  wonder  was  of  short  duration.  The  following  Sabbath, 
Mr.  Vernon  requested  his  people  to  unite  with  him  in  calling  a 
council  to  dissolve  his  pastoral  relation.  The  thing  created  a 
profound  sensation.  Mr.  Moulton  closely  scrutinized  the  state 
of  feeling  in  the  community,  and,  with  Mrs.  Elton's  help,  de 
cided  what  was  for  the  good  of  the  parish.  An  early  meeting 
of  the  society  was  called  ;  and,  to  Mr.  Vernon's  surprise,  in 
stead  of  acquiescing  in  his  proposal,  a  committee  was  appointed 
to  confer  with  him,  and  urge  the  withdrawal  of  his  request.  He 
consults  the  neighboring  pastors,  and  they  all  advise  him  to 
stay.  Ministerial  brethren  are  not  always  the  best  advisers  in 
such  a  case. 

The  final  conference  with  the  committee  arrives.  Mr.  Moul 
ton  pleads  that  the  step  proposed  will  be  the  means  of  breaking 
up  the  society.  He  has  found  that  Mr.  Vernon  is  strongly 
intrenched  in  the  affections  of  the  middle  class  in  his  congrega 
tion.  Mr.  Wells,  the  Nortons,  and  others,  threaten  to  go  back 
to  the  old  church  over  the  hill.  Mr.  Moulton  knows  very  well 
how  much  these  men  are  worth,  when  money  matters  come  to  a 
pinch  ;  and  his  foresight  discovers  narrow  places  ahead.  They 
have  already  opened  their  purse,  in  the  present  distress.  The 
committee  are  now  able  to  promise  immediate  payment  of  all 
arrearages,  and  they  make  many  pledges  for  the  future.  But 
the  pastor  hesitates.  The  want  of  Christian  cooperation  and  fel 
lowship  is  not  so  easily  got  over.  He  is  not  used  to  opposition  in 
the  church.  Mr.  Moulton  takes  him  aside,  and  whispers  that 
Deacon  Slocuin  and  his  clique  will  probably  leave  soon,  and  join 
the  Methodists.  This,  certainly,  would  be  an  alleviation.  The 
committee  say  many  pleasant  things,  and  talk  hopefully  of  the 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  201 

future.  He  begins  to  yield.  It  may  be  duty  to  remain, 
though  inclination  and  self-interest  point  to  another  6eld. 
Though  loath  to  stay,  he  is  not  "  fully  persuaded  "  to  go.  The 
result  is  the  withdrawal  of  his  request  The  committee  look 
relieved  and  grateful.  Their  chairman  makes  out  his  report 
for  the  society,  and  begs  Mr.  Vernon  to  allow  him  to  say  that 
the  tardiness  with  which  the  salary  is  rendered  was  the  prime 
cause  of  dissatisfaction.  In  this  request,  the  wily  diplomatist 
has  three  objects  in  view,  —  he  seldom  had  fewer  than  this  in 
any  movement,  —  to  conciliate  the  opposition,  of  whose  seces 
sion  he  had  many  doubts,  by  covering  up  Mr.  Vernon 's  estima 
tion  of  them ;  to  insure  more  prompt  payment  hereafter  from 
the  pew-holders;  to  gratify  the  honest  farmers  with  the  belief 
that  their  contribution  had  met  the  difficulty,  and  retained  the 
minister. 

And  now  it  is  reported,  far  and  near,  that  the  affair  is  hap 
pily  adjusted.  The  minister  soon  has  reason  to  think  otherwise. 
Tie  finds  that  the  society  has  made  no  provision  for  the  future. 
Their  spasmodic  effort  will  only  sink  them  the  deeper  in  the 
slough.  As  for  the  secession  to  the  Methodists,  it  was  only  the 
figment  of  Mrs.  Elton's  busy  brain,  which  her  best  efforts  were 
never  likely  to  place  among  the  actualities  of  history.  It  took 
an  incredibly  short  time  to  open  Mr.  Vernon 's  eyes  to  all  this; 
and  he  said  to  Mary,  "  I  have  acted  very  unwisely.  We  have 
lost  the  opportunity  of  an  eligible  place,  and  I  foresee  plainly 
we  shall  not  stay  in  Millville  another  twelvemonth." 

The  traveller,  who  is  half-convinced  that,  at  an  important 
stage  of  his  journey,  he  took  the  wrong  road,  loses  soon  his 
elasticity  of  step  and  ardor  of  pursuit.  So  a  man,  haunted  by 
the  conviction  that  some  important  step  in  life  was  wrongly 
decided,  is  shorn  of  half  his  strength  by  misgivings  and  regrets. 
Soon  as  Edward  Vernon  was  satisfied  of  his  mistake  in  con 
senting  to  retain  his  present  charge,  a  feeling  of  despondency 
crept  over  him,  which  unnerved  him  for  strong  persistent 
effort.  The  evils,  from  which  he  had  vainly  sought  release 


1202  THE   BUA  DY    SIDE  J    OR, 

looked  intolerable.  His  brooding  thoughts  augured  loss  of 
reputation  and  strength,  —  prophecies  of  evil  that  were  their 
own  means  of  fulfilment. 

For  a  few  weeks  there  seemed  to  be  a  cessation  of  hostilities 
on  the  part  of  his  opposcrs.  Deacon  Slocum  had  little  oppor 
tunity  now  to  aid  in  cutting  off  the  supplies,  —  his  exorbitant 
bill  for  horse-hire  being  paid,  and  his  accommodations  relin 
quished.  At  twelve  and  a  half  cents  a  mile  for  horse  and  car 
riage,  he  had  made  up  a  bill  of  seventy  dollars,  in  a  little  less 
than  twelve  months.  It  was  evident  he  had  no  idea  of  being 
shoved  off  from  the  religious  connection  in  which  he  could  agi 
tate  with  such  notoriety  and  effect.  Indeed,  we  must  give  him 
the  credit,  at  this  time,  of  an  effort  to  draw  once  more  in  the  same 
harness  with  the  minister.  Some  attributed  this  mollification 
to  the  influence  of  his  brother's  widow,  a  woman  of  a  heavenly 
temper,  who  had  come  to  pass  her  last  days  with  her  husband's 
kindred.  Be  this  as  it  may,  the  reform  was  of  short  continu 
ance.  Always  restless  and  in  search  of  novelties,  he  wearied 
his  pastor  with  his  Quixotic  schemes.  Among  other  things,  he 
solicited  Mr.  Vernon's  signature  to  a  pledge  for  the  better 
observance  of  the  Sabbath,  which  he  proposed  to  circulate ;  and 
was  curtly  answered  that  we  had  better  have  a  pledge  to  keep 
the  church  covenant. 

This  was  taken  hardly.  Soon  after,  a  proposal  to  invite  a 
celebrated  anti-church  apostle  of  liberty  to  hold  forth  in  the 
village,  being  also  negatived,  the  deacon  "  declared  off"  from 
the  minister,  irrevocably.  His  wife,  too,  withdrew  from  the 
female  prayer-meeting,  — "  not  that  she  had  aught  against 
Mrs.  Vernon,  —  she  considered  her  a  superior  woman,  — but  she 
could  not  uphold  an  unfaithful  ministry."  Her  place  was  more 
than  supplied  by  the  sister-in-law,  Mrs.  Milk,  between  whom 
and  Mrs.  Vernon  there  was  all  the  sympathy  of  kindred  souls. 
Poor  Mrs.  Harris  was  in  a  state  of  betweenity,  which  made  her 
look  more  distressed  and  under  greater  responsibilities  than 
«ver.  One  might  have  judged,  from  her  phiz,  that  the  ark  of 


LIFE   IN    A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  203 

the  Lord  rested  on  her  shoulders,  and  that  she  was  chief 
mourner  in  all  the  separate  ills  of  a  groaning  world.  Sister 
Rachel  thought  it  her  duty  not  to  desert  the  camp ;  and  her 
prayers  for  her  pastor  evinced  the  purpose  to  inform  her  pray 
ing  associates,  as  well  as  the  Lord,  what  she  deemed  his  errors 
and  deficiencies.  To  his  sensitive  wife  this  course  was  not  a 
little  annoying. 

Mother  Slocum,  too,  was  not  inactive.  With  her  bag  on 
her  ami  she  sallied  forth,  retailing  the  gossip  obtained  from 
Miss  Polly,  to  the  disadvantage  of  the  pastor's  family,  seldom 
failing  to  exalt  her  son,  in  the  stereotyped  phrase,  "Sydney  is 
a  good  man,  —  a  praying  man." 

Mr.  Vernon's  power  in  the  ptdpit  had  been  the  prop  that 
hitherto  strengthened  him  against  adverse  influences.  Now, 
that  power  began  to  wane.  Yet,  there  was  many  an  effort  to 
recover  what  was  lost.  Whenever  he  could  confine  his  atten 
tion  to  some  glorious  truth  of  Revelation,  how  did  it  calm  his 
disquietude,  chasten  and  elevate  his  thoughts,  chain  his  affec 
tion,  fill  and  enlarge  his  vision,  and  raise  him,  in  blissful  forget- 
fulness  of  his  trials,  to  an  atmosphere  of  its  own,  clear  and 
invigorating !  Then,  he  would  write  and  speak  like  himself. 
But  such  occasions  were  fast  becoming  rare. 

The  people  were  quick  to  note  the  change  in  the  pulpit,  —  a 
change  affecting  quite  as  much  the  address  of  the  preacher  as 
the  character  of  his  discourses.  There  were  none  here  to  pet 
him  in  his  moods,  to  pity  his  depression,  and  hold  him  all  the 
dearer  for  it,  as  did  the  people  of  his  first  love. 

When  Mrs.  Elton  was  reported  to  have  said,  "she  could  n't 
divine  what  ailed  Mr.  Vernon,  to  depreciate  so  rapidly  in  his 
preaching,"  Mary's  cheek  flushed,  and  her  heart  ached,  as  that 
of  a  minister's  wife  only  can,  in  such  circumstances.  Poor 
woman  !  she  had  care  enough,  it  would  seem,  without  this 
trouble.  Her  domestic  duties  were  not  light.  Youni:  Kdwanl 
had  arrived,  as  was  expected,  making  one  more  object  of  her 
provident  attention.  Mi?s  Polly  had  fixed  notions  of  her  own 


204  THE   SHADY    SIDE  J    OR, 

sphere  of  service,  and  beyond  the  line  she  would  not  budge  an 
inch,  let  what  would  happen.  With  Mary's  views  of  a  mother's 
duties,  her  two  children  made  no  small  demand  upon  her  time 
and  energies.  But  it  was  the  miscellaneous  services  of  a  paro 
chial  nature  that  overtasked  and  crowded  her.  Her  benevolent 
heart  could  not  resist  the  appeals  of  misery  and  want.  Among 
the  poor  were  many  who  had  seen  better  days,  and  who  craved 
a  sympathy  and  appreciation  which  there  were  few  to  bestow. 
The  Seldens  thought  it  very  unbecoming  in  their  minister's 
wife  to  associate  with  the  poor  old  Scotch  woman,  or  to  sit  an 
hour  with  the  suffering  Mrs.  Ellis,  whose  daughter  worked  in 
the  cotton-mill,  and  whose  husband,  in  his  drinking  sprees, 
wasted  the  girl's  earnings  with  his  own.  Mrs.  Beach  and 
Susan  were,  indeed,  a  more  reputable  family ;  yet  they  lived 
in  a  factory  boarding-house,  and  the  daughter  worked  in  the 
packing-room  of  the  paper-mill.  How  vulgar  in  Mrs.  Yernon 
to  be  on  visiting  terms  with  such  people !  These  aristocrats 
saw  no  harm  in  her  taking  home  the  unfinished  work  of  the 
sewing  circle,  or  in  taxing  her  time  and  strength  to  receive 
calls  and  visits,  and  attend  social  gatherings. 

Mary  had  felt,  from  the  first,  that  there  were  a  multitude  of 
plaims  upon  her ;  but  now  it  seemed  that  everything  would  be 
light,  were  it  not  for  the  incubus  settling  down,  with  leaden 
weight,  on  her  beloved  and  gifted  husband. 

Everything  that  she  could  do'was  done ;  —  her  most  assidu 
ous  ministries  employed  in  his  behalf.  Life  seemed  an  intense 
effort  to  shield,  to  soothe,  to  stimulate,  to  aid,  to  inspire  with 
hope  and  courage,  the  struggling  victim  of  despondency.  When 
he  went  to  the  study  with  a  heavier  cloud  than  usual  upon  his 
brow,  she  would  slip  away  from  her  cares  below,  and,  tapping 
at  his  door,  ask  to  sit  awhile  with  him.  He  knew  not  how 
much  he  was  indebted  to  those  visits  for  what  he  did  accom 
plish.  A  cheerful  countenance  doeth  good,  like  a  medicine. 
His  malady  was  noi  wholly  proof  against  this  remedy. 

At  first,  she  playfully  asked  him  what  text  he  was  writing 


LIFB   IN    A.   COUNTRY   PARSONAGI.  205 

from,  and  what  he  could  find  to  say  upon  it.  When  she  found 
that  he  was  thus  led  away  from  himself,  till  his  enthusiasm 
kindled,  and  his  mind  glowed  on  some  track  of  lofty  thought, 
she  resorted,  often,  to  this  expedient.  Nor  was  this  communion 
upon  pulpit  themes  without  a  reciprocal  profit.  While  to  him 
it  was  stimulating,  and  often  highly  suggestive,  to  her  it  was  a 
sweet  privilege,  and  a  rich  intellectual  .repast. 

Little  Abby  was  always  ready  to  amuse  her  brother,  while 
mama  could  go  to  the  study.  Catching  her  mother's  spirit,  she 
would  do  anything  "  to  comfort  dear  papa." 

"  What  shall  I  do,  when  you  are  laid  aside  ?  "  said  Edward, 
pensively.  "  Ah !  that  is  selfish.  You  do  far  more  for  me 
than  I  deserve." 

"  That  sounds  very  humble,"  replied  Mary.  "  Can  this  be 
the  same  gentleman  who,  an  hour  ago,  claimed  the  honor  of 
having  sprung  a  splendid  mine  of  thought  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  he,  "  the  mines  of  Golconda  were  of  little  worth 
to  their  owner,  without  being  wrought." 

Surely,  surely ;  and  how  is  a  man  in  the  night-mare  to  use  a 
pickaxe  ?  —  there  's  the  rub. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

"  A  something  light  as  air,  a  look, 
A  word  unkind,  or  wrongly  taken." 

"  The  vale  may  be  deep,  but  there  "s  music  around  it, 
And  hope,  'mid  our  anguish,  bright  hope  still  is  here." 

LIFE,  out  of  the  parsonage,  is  not  smooth  at  Millville,  in 
thase  days.  It  is  a  time  of  trouble  and  perplexity.  Uasincss 
failures  through  the  country  are  disastrously  fmjuout,  and  tho 
scarcity  of  money  is  increasing.  The  Millville  manufacturers 
curtail  their  operations,  and  struggle  hard  to  keep  their  heada 
IS 


. 


206  THE    SHADY    SICE  J     OR, 

out  of  R-ater.  Much  suffering  ensues  from  the  dismissal  of 
operatives.  It  is  the  season,  moreover,  when  fevers  prevail  in 
these  low,  unhealthy  grounds,  and  distressing  cases  of  sickness 
add  to  the  general  confusion.  The  pastor  is  called  to  many 
•sick  beds  and  many  funerals 

His  family  expenses,  too  are  now  multiplying.  He  has 
physicians'  and  nurses'  bills.  We  follow  him  into  the  nursery, 
one  Sabbath  afternoon.  A  tiny  babe,  two  weeks  old,  the  second 
daughter,  lies  in  the  cradle.  The  nurse  is  at  her  supper.  He 
draws  aside  the  curtain,  that  he  may  look  over  the  Herald,  and 
prepare  for  the  missionary  concert.  "  Ah,  Mary  !  "  said  he,  "  I 
miss  you  here,  as  well  as  everywhere  else."  She  was  wont, 
during  the  month,  to  cull  many  a  missionary  item,  and  treasure 
it  up  for  him.  She  made  an  effort  now  to  explore  the  monthly 
concert  department  of  her  brain.  Her  husband  bethought  him 
self,  and  said,  "  This  is  hurting  you,  my  dear,  and  I  ought  not 
to  have  allowed  it." 

"  0,  no ! "  said  the  devoted  wife ;  "  i  am  so  glad  to  do  something 
for  you,  as  I  used  to.  Now  let  me  look  out  the  hymns."  The 
nurse  came  in,  and  prohibited  the  book,  just  as  the  task  was 
done.  As  Edward  started  for  the  evening  service,  he  noticed  a 
bright  spot  on  either  cheek,  and,  turning  back,  cautioned  Mary 
to  be  quiet,  and  rest. 

But  when  is  a  minister's  wife  sure  of  rest  ?  Intent  on  a 
kind  service,  Aunt  Hannah  stepped  in,  thinking,  by  this  time, 
Mrs.  Vernon  would  be  glad  to  see  somebody.  The  nurse 
caught  at  the  opportunity  to  ask  leave  of  absence,  for  an  hour. 
Aunt  Hannah  did  not  mean  to  tire  the  sick  woman,  so  she  did 
all  the  talking  herself;  and  she  had  many  things  to  say.  Mrs. 
Vcrnon  did  not  mind  it  much,  till  a  tbeme  was  reached  upon 
which  she  was  rather  sensitive. 

"  I  have  spent  the  Sabbath  at  Mrs.  Clifton's,"  said  the  visitor, 
"  and  the  young  man  has  had  quite  a  talk  with  me  about 
parish  matters.  I  wonder  he  should  think  Mr.  Vernon  was 
foolish  to  remain  here." 


LITE   IN   A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  207 

"  Did  he  say  that  ?  "  asked  the  now  eager  listener. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply ;  "  and  I  didn't  know,  till  he  told  me, 
that  Mrs.  Elton  is  making  complaints  of  the  preaching.  She 
doesn't  give  up  a  minister  till  the  last.  Moulton,  too,  he  says, 
would  as  lief  have  him  go  as  stay,  only  he  feared  the  society 
would  run  down.  They  are  an  ungrateful  set,  here.  The  way 
they  treated  Mr.  Smith,  now,  —  I  always  loved  Mr.  Smith,  — 
they  fairly  kicked  him  out,  after  all  he'd  done,  too." 

Thankful  was  the  excited  invalid  to  hear  the  nurse's  return 
ing  steps.  But  no  sooner  did  Aunt  Hannah  leave,  than,  meeting 
being  out,  Mrs.  Harris  "just  stepped  in,  a  minute."  Being  in, 
ehe  took  the  opportunity  to  tell  how  fast  objects  of  charity  were 
accumulating  in  the  village ;  and  she  leaned  against  the  bed 
post,  and  gave  the  particulars  of  three  half-starved  families,  that 
had  lately  come  to  light.  This  reminded  her,  also,  to  speak  of 
half-a-dozen  poor  children,  that  must  be  clothed  and  got  into 
the  Sabbath-school. 

When  Mr.  Vcrnon  entered,  he  found  his  wife  in  a  high  fever. 
Dr.  Gale  was  summoned,  and,  for  the  first  time,  expressed 
alarm,  and  asked  for  counsel.  A  messenger,  with  the  sorrowful 
tidings,  was  despatched  to  Mayfield.  For  three  days,  the 
scales  of  life  and  death  seemed  to  hang  in  even  balance.  Poor 
Edward !  he  thought  he  had  trouble  before ;  but  what  sorrow 
was  like  this  ?  Yet  the  Lord  in  mercy  spared  him  the  stroke 
that  would  have  made  his  babes  motherless,  and  widowed  his 
heart  forever. 

Though  soon  out  of  immediate  danger,  Mary's  illness  svas 
long  and  heart-trying.  She  gained,  at  times,  rapidly ;  but 
every  betterment  was  followed  by  a  relapse.  The  people,  at 
first,  were  attentive  and  sympathizing.  Watchers  and  nurses 
were  obtained  with  little  difficulty.  Soon,  however,  they 
wearied  of  it.  The  world  has  far  less  sympathy  with  a  caso 
of  protracted  debility  than  with  one  of  brief,  acute  suffering. 
Mr.  Vernon's  sensitive  spirit  shrinking  from  reluctant  service, 
he  often  studied  his  sermon  while  tending  the  sick-couch  the 


208  THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OR, 

livelong  night.  Those  were  dark  days,  at  the  parsonage ;  yet 
there  shot  athwart  them  a  light  that  was  not  born  of  sun  or 
star,  —  many  a  gleam,  and  all  the  more  precious  for  the  dark 
ness  they  illumed. 

Winter  set  in,  —  a  winter  of  unusual  severity.  The  domes 
tic  affairs  of  the  parsonage  missed  the  careful  supervision  of 
other  days.  The  purse  was  soon  empty,  and  money  was  no 
where  to  be  had.  Mary  denied  herself  many  little  comforts, 
which  could  not  well  be  procured  on  credit. 

Mr.  Vernon  waited  anxiously  for  his  house-rent,  but  it  did 
not  come.  Presently  a  letter  from  Mr.  Cook  announces  that 
the  debtor  is  a  defaulter,  and  has  run  away.  A  journey  to 
Salem  must  be  made,  to  secure  the  claim,  and  public  convey 
ances  demand  cash,  and  the  purse  is  empty.  He  must  take 
Pornpey,  though  it  is  a  long  road,  and  the  weather  cold.  Yet 
he  will  need  a  little  "  change,"  for  turnpike-tolls  and  horse-feed. 
He  applies  to  the  society's  treasury  in  vain.  He  calls  on  one 
and  another  rich  man,  with  no  better  success.  He  sets  off,  at 
length,  on  his  journey,  resolving  to  call  on  a  wealthy  parishioner, 
a  mile  and  a  half  on  his  way.  He  is  again  denied,  and,  stung 
to  the  quick,  will  not  retrace  his  steps,  though  without  a  penny. 
At  the  gates  he  promises  to  pay  on  his  return.  He  is  thought 
to  be  a  civil-spoken  man,  and  they  let  him  pass.  Night  over- 
'takes  him,  but  he  has  no  means  to  procure  shelter;  so  he 
presses  on,  nor  slackens  rein  till,  at  midnight,  he  reaches  father 
Allison's  door.  The  next  morning,  supplied  with  enough  filthy 
lucre  for  the  present  distress,  he  pursues  his  course,  and,  on  the 
fourth  day,  reaches  home  again,  dispirited  by  a  bootless  journey. 
Real  estate  has  fallen  in  Salem,  as  elsewhere,  and  his  house  is 
destined  to  remain,  for  the  present,  unsold  and  tenantless.  . 

Not  many  days  elapsed  ere  Mary  received  a  letter  from  her 
father,  suggesting,  in  the  tenderest,  most  delicate  manner,  that 
her  dear  husband  is  in  danger  of  becoming  misanthropic ;  with 
an  earnest  caution  to  guard  against  the  least  sourness,  or  bitter- 
of  feeling.  "  To  avoid  this,"  he  said,  "  requires  more 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  209 

grace  than  they  are  aware  who  have  never  met  the  temptation ; 
yet  it  can  be  done,  and,  by  divine  grace,  it  must  be  done,  01  wo 
make  ourselves  miserable,  and  give  a  poor  illustration  of  the 
religion  of  the  Cross."  These  words  awoke  Mary,  at  once,  to  a 
conviction  of  the  danger  alluded  to,  —  to  the  fact,  moreover, 
that  she  was  accessory  to  it.  Shall  she  tell  Edward  ?  He 
may  be  grieved ;  yet,  like  a  true  wife,  she  resolves  to  show  him 
the  letter.  Together  they  analyze  their  thoughts  and  feelings, 
make  mutual  confessions  of  wrong,  pledge  renewed  watchful 
ness,  and  beseech  the  Lord  for  strength  to  bear  meekly  and 
without  harsh  judgments  the  ills  that  come  upon  them  by  thf 
fault  of  others. 

A  letter,  written  by  Mary  to  her  brother,  in  these  days,  ia 
too  characteristic  to  be  omitted. 

"  MILLVILLE,  &c. 
"  MY  PRECIOUS  BROTHER,  — 

"  Your  last  package  from  home  brought  you  the  intelligence 
of  my  dangerous  illness  and  partial  convalescence.  I  know  you 
will  rejoice  to  see  again  the  familiar  hand,  and  be  assured,  from 
my  own  pen,  of  returning  health  and  vigor.  Ah  !  let  me  not 
deceive  you  by  that  word  vigor.  I  know  little,  yet,  of  such  a 
luxury.  I  have  so  much  demand  upon  my  strength  that  it  is 
used  a  little  faster  than  I  gain  it.  (Is  that  an  Irish-ism  ?)  I 
have  three  dear  babes  leaning  upon  me;  and  a  husband,  with  a 
nature  as  sensitive  as  a  child's, —  if  he  were  otherwise,  I  could 
not  love  him  half  as  well,  —  in  special  need  of  sympathy  and 
comfort.  The  claims  made  upon  me,  too,  from  without,  as  tho 
pastor's  wife,  are  neither  few  nor  light.  Sister  Emily,  in  her 
sphere,  knows  little  of  these.  Edward  has  written  you  of 
h is  trials  here.  I  have  felt  them  deeply,  for  his  sake,  —  felt 
them  with  a  bitterness  of  spirit  that  I  knew  not  of,  till  tho 
solemnities  of  eternity  seemed  but  a  step  removed.  A  near 
prospect  of  death  is  a  wonderful  revealcr  of  the  heart. 

"  0,  my  dear  William  !  would  that  I  could  lean  my  head  on 
your  strong  arm,  and  recount  the  sorrows  and  joys  that  hav« 
IS* 


210  THE  SHALT  SIDE;  OR. 

been  my  lot  since  we  looked  upon  each  other  last.  You  have 
been  sick  once  and  again,  but  I  believe  were  never  brought  so 
low  as  to  abandon  hope  of  life.  Such  an  event  is  a  solemn  crisis 
in  one's  history ;  like  a  bridge  connecting  subsequent  life,  as  a 
separate  portion,  with  what  has  gone  before.  As  death  seemed 
approaching,  my  soul  rallied  with  a  wondrous  energy,  to  settle 
anew  the  foundations  of  its  Christian  hope,  and  looked  forward, 
with  trembling  solicitude,  toward  the  end.  Soon  I  was  too 
weak  to  reason,  —  almost  too  low  to  think.  Yet  consciousness 
remained ;  everything  seemed  detached  and  moving ;  every 
thing  but  one,  —  the  Saviour's  bosom,  —  and  on  that  I  leaned 
as  an  unreasoning  babe  on  its  mother's  arm.  Hour  after  hour 
passed,  and  I  lost  the  power  of  connected  thought.  I  paw, 
indeed, and  knew  the  faces  that  bent  over  me;  —  our  kind,  anx 
ious  father,  with  his  finger  upon  my  wrist ;  sister  Harriet,  in 
tears ;  dear  Edward,  pale  and  fixed  as  marble :  little  Abby's 
sweet,  earnest  face  in  the  nurse's  arms.  I  saw  but  I  knew 
not  the  how  and  wherefore.  All  was  vague  and  dreamy,  all 
but  that  sure  support  beneath  me,  on  which  I  rested  in  perfect 
peace.  (0,  to  be  certain  that  this  was  no  illusion  of  the  fancy!) 
Then  the  crisis  passed ;  and  still,  too  feeble  to  talk,  —  almost 
too  weak  to  think,  —  I  lay  in  a  state  of  untroubled  passivity, 
with  a  delicious  sense  of  new  life  in  the  slowly  quickening  tide 
through  heart  and  veins.  After  a  few  days,  I  gained  rapidly  ; 
but  many  things  have  since  conspired  to  prevent  my  full  recov 
ery.  Yet  how  much  have  I  to  be  thankful  for !  My  song  shall 
be  of  mercy,  not  of  judgment. 

"  We  hear  of  you  in  the  public  journals,  and  rejoice  in  the 
growing  spirit  of  inquiry  among  the  A  rmenians  of  your  charge. 
Hope  you  may  be  permitted  not  only  to  sow,  but  to  reap. 
What  joy  is  like  the  joy  of  harvest,  after  a  seed-time  of  clouds 
and  tears  ? 

"  You  asked  me,  in  your  last,  to  say  more  of  my  children. 
Ah  !  what  fond  mother  shall  dare  give  her  pen  'carte  llcmche,1 
on  a  topic  so  near  her  heart,  and  so  exhaustless  ?  Abby,  wa 


LITE   IN    A   COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  211 

humbly  trust,  is  in  favor  with  God.  She  is  a  tender-hearted 
spiritually-minded  child  ;  holding  daily  communion  with  Jesus 
whom  she  has  loved  from  her  earliest  knowledge  of  his  name. 
Divine  grace  seems  to  have  renewed  her  unto  holiness  soon 
after  she  knew  the  difference  between  right  and  wrong.  This 
was  what  I  expected  when  I  consecrated  her  in  baptism ;  and 
the  Lord  has  not  disappointed  me.  '  According  to  your  faith 
be  it  unto  you.'  Allison  is  a  fine  boy  ;  less  contemplative  in 
his  turn,  but  much  like  his  sister  in  many  things.  He  is  rightly 
named,  for  he  belongs  to  my  side  of  the  house,  —  dark  hair  and 
ha/el  eyes.  The  baby  —  little  Nell  —  is.  named  for  brother 
Henry's  wife.  She  is  very  different  from  the  other  children; 
more  lively  in  her  baby  ways ;  more  irritable,  too,  than  they. 
The  Lord  make  all  the  darlings  —  yours  and  ours  —  lambs  of 
the  Saviour's  flock,  carried  in  the  arms  of  the  good  Shepherd, 
and  borne  in  his  bosom  ! 

"  Besides  our  own,  we  have  the  care  and  training  of  a  son 
of  Edward's  brother,  who  was  named  for  his  Uncle  Edward. 
He  is  a  lad  of  much  promise ;  yet  high-spirited,  and  needing 
the  most  judicious  management.  I  sometimes  call  him  my 
eldest  son.  He  gives  me  most  gratifying  proofs  of  affection, 
and  is  quite  docile  in  my  hands. 

"  I  had  much  more  to  say  to  you,  dear  brother,  and  designed 
to  fill  another  sheet,  but  my  failing  strength  warns  me  to 
desist;  —  will  if  possible  fill  out  a  page  for  sister  Emily,  and  add 
aiuthcr  line  here  before  I  send." 

But  it  was  not  possible.  Again  was  the  easy  rocker  ex 
changed  for  the  bed  of  pain  and  languishing.  The  people 
became  impatient,  and  some  thought  the  minister's  wife  did 
not  try  to  get  well.  Miss  Polly  aided  this  slander.  She 
"  could  n't  see  any  reason  why  she  should  not  get  up  ;"  and, 
indeed,  it  was  beyond  her  ken. 

Mrs.  Elton  said  "  she  was  sorry  for  Mr.  Vernon.  No  wonder 
he  could  not  sustain  himself  in  the  pulpit,  with  so  much  sick- 


212  THE   SHADY   SIDE;    OR, 

ness  in  his  family.     A  minister  with  such  a  feeble,  nervouh 
wife,  was  to  be  pitied." 

Ah !  how  little  did  she  know  about  it !  How  little  guess, 
that  but  for  those  feeble  arms  around  him, -he  would  have  sunk 
like  a  millstone  to  the  nether  depths  !  Less,  still,  did  she  sur 
mise  that  much  of  this  debility,  and  these  frequent  relapses 
arose  from  her  constant  thoughtfulness  of  him  and  his  work. 

There  was  much  meddling,  in  those  days,  with  affairs  at  the 
parsonage.  Many  thought  't  was  time  things  were  looked  into. 
Among  others,  Mrs.  Deacon  Nobles  came,  and,  after  a  confer 
ence  in  the  kitchen,  went  in  to  talk  with  Mrs.  Vernon.  She 
intimated  that,  in  consequence  of  her  illness,  the  minister  was 
confined  at  home,  and  things  were  getting  loose  in  the  parish. 
"  It  was  very  bad,  very  unfortunate,  indeed  !  "  Mrs.  Vernon 
joined  in  her  regrets,  saying,  "  It  was  not  very  pleasant  to  her 
to  be  sick ;  yet,  she  was  sure  she  sorrowed  more  on  Mr.  Ver- 
non's  account,  than  on  her  own."  The  unfeeling  rejoinder  was. 
"  The  people  are  sorry  on  their  own  account.  We  hope,  for  our 
sake,  you  will  try  to  get  up  soon." 

Dr.  Gale  entered,  as  the  deacon's  wife  departed.  Finding 
his  patient  in  tears,  he  turned  abruptly  back  to  the  kitchen, 
and  ordered  Polly  to.  "call  the  parson."  A  rough  man  was 
Dr.  Gale  ;  tempestuous  often,  yet  sensible.  Christian  princi 
ples  he  did  not  profess  ;  but  humane  feeling  he  seldom  lacked. 

"  Parson  Vernon  !  "  said  he,  "  I  give  it  up.  You  may  get 
your  wife  home  to  her  father's  as  soon  as  possible,  if  you  mean 
to  have  her  well.  J  can't  cure  her  here.  Your  religious  folks 
ha'  n't  a  grain  of  sense  to  spare.  A  pretty  fool  I  make  of 
myself,  to  come  here  and  order  sedatives,  and  rely  on  quiet, 
when  some  old  woman,  who  was  made  without  nerves,  will 
bolt  in,  and  upset  it  all !  "  And  the  doctor  went  off  in  a 
bluster. 

Mrs.  Nobles  had  stopped  to  report  her  interview  to  Mrs. 
Elton,  and  the  two  ladies  stood  at  the  gate  as  the  doctor 
returned  with  quickened  step.  They  stopped  him  to  ask  if 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  213 

there  was  anything  more  alarming  at  the  parsonage.  He 
growled  a  "  no  need  of  anything  more,"  which  they  construed 
into  vexation  with  his  patient.  Whereupon,  they  proceeded  to 
lament  that  ministers  should  take  for  their  wives,  such  feeble, 
inefficient  women  ;  and,  especially,  that  Millville  should  be  so 
unfortunate  in  this  respect. 

The  doctor  was  in  no  gentle  mood,  and  he  gave  them  a  blast 
which  they  were  sorry  to  have  provoked. 

"  Feeble  women  !  "  said  he  ;  "  feeble  women  !  What  makes 
'em  so  ?  They  've  a  right  to  be  feeble,  with  a  vengeance  ! 
Wonder  any  of  'em  live  ten  years,  —  pulled  about  hither  and 
thither,  and  kept  on  short  allowance !  You  expect  to  make 
her  do  half  enough  to  earn  her  hucband'?  salary,  with  your 
confounded  societies  !  It 's  contrive,  and  cut,  and  stitch  ;  and 
then  you  set  her  to  praying,  and  talking,  and  reforming ;  and 
she  must  be  dragged  out  here  and  there  ;  and  at  home,  there  's 
no  peace  for  the  calls  and  tea-drinkings,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
fault-findings.  Mrs.  Vernon,  now,  is  not  inclined  to  be  sickly. 
Good,  fresh  constitution  ;  but  she  's  worn  and  low,  and  you 
don't  give  her  any  chance  to  get  up." 

"  But,"  interposed  Mrs.  Nobles,  "  you  '11  allow,  doctor,  that 
Mrs.  Vernon  is  very  nervous  1 " 

"  Nervous  !  "  said  he,  contemptuously.  "  I  wish  the  women 
knew  what  they  mean  by  that." 

Mrs.  Elton  ventured,  "  If  she  had  more  hopefulness  and 
courage,  doctor." 

"  You  don't  know  her,"  said  the  doctor,  less  fiercely.  "She  's 
none  of  your  milk-and-water  ladies.  She  has  all  the  hope  and 
courage  there  is  in  the  house  ;"  —  and  he  turned  away.  Look 
ing  back,  however,  with  a  sudden  thought,  another  explosive 
burst  of  words  followed.  "  If  I  'd  been  a  minister  (no  danger), 
but  if  I  had,  I  'J  ha'  lived  a  bachelor  all  my  days,  before  I  'd 
ha'  married  a  wife  for  the  parish  !  " 

Dr.  (lalvs  last  prescription  at  the  parsonage  was  followed, 
and  proved  highly  efficacious.  In  the  home  of  her  childhood, 


214  THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OR, 

amid  the  tender  assiduities  of  father  and  sister,  the  two  little 
ones  with  her,  and  away  from  the  friction  of  life  in  Millville, 
Mary  was  restored,  not  to  her  former  soundness,  but  to  com 
fortable  health  and  activity.  Aunt  Hannah  volunteered  to 
take  the  helm  at  the  parsonage.  Abby  went  to  school  with 
her  cousin  Edward,  and  though  her  little  heart  pined  for  mama, 
she  made  no  complaints,  but  did  her  best  to  be  a  comfort  to  her 
poor  father.  Now,  so  far  as  family  cares  were  concerned,  the 
pastor  had  ample  leisure  to  study,  those  six  long  weeks  ;  yet  he 
accomplished  far  less  even  than  when  he  had  "a  feeble,  nervous 
wife  upon  his  hands."  His  soul  fretted  like  a  pinioned  giant. 

He  borrowed  money  till  he  was  ashamed  to  ask,  and,  indeed, 
unable  to  procure  more.  Mr.  Moulton  lent  him  his  name  at 
the  bank,  for  thirty  days ;  and  when  their  expiration  found 
him  still  in  straits,  renewed  the  loan  for  thirty  more.  At  the 
end  of  sixty  days,  however,  he  was  no  better  off  than  before. 
He  ran  hither  and  thither  without  success.  His  three  days  of 
grace  were  nearly  out.  Prayer  seemed  the  only  resort  left 
.  him.  Belief  came  from  an  unexpected  source. 

Susan  Beach  had  earned  large  wages  at  the  paper-mill. 
From  her  last  year's  income,  she  had  supported  her  feeble 
mother,  and  saved  fifty  dollars,  which  she  kept  by  her,  in  gold, 
fearing  to  invest  it,  in  a  time  of  general  insecurity.  Soon  as 
she  heard  of  Mr.  Vernon's  extremity,  she  asked  her  mother  to 
take  the  five  eagles  to  the  parsonage,  and  beg  him  to  accept  tho 
loan,  without  interest,  till  it  should  be  perfectly  convenient  to 
refund  it.  This  was  indeed  a  God-send.  The  coin  was  wrapped 
in  a  piece  of  writing-paper,  on  the  inside  of  which  was  traced  by 
the  widowed  mother,  in  a  tremulous  hand,  "  Trust  in  the  Lord, 
arid  do  good  ;  so  shalt  thou  dwell  in  the  land,  and  verily  thou 
shalt  be  fed." 

How  tender  were  the  hearts  from  which  ascended  devout 
thanksgivings  for  this  timely  aid  ! 

Mr.  Clifton  had  learned  their  straits,  and  called  to  see  what 
could  be  done.  As  he  heard  whence  relief  came,  he  said,  bit- 


LIFE   IN   A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  215 

terly,  "That  is  ever  the  way;  —  the  poor  widow's  mite;  the 
penitent  outcast's  box  of  ointment.  Walter  has  money  by  him, 
—  enough  of  it ;  but  he  would  sooner  see  his  minister  arrested 
for  debt,  than  run  any  risk  of  losing  fifty  dollars." 

Mr.  Clifton  always  had  an  irritating-plaster  for  every  sore. 
Why  must  he  needs  apply  the  caustic  just  as  heavenly  balm 
was  distilling  on  the  wounded  heart  ?  It  was  his  besetting  sin. 
So,  now,  he  added,  that  Slojum  had  been  heard  to  say  to  hig 
brother  deacon,  "Hold  on  a  few  months  more;  the  minister 
won't  stay  long  after  the  bread-and-butter  fails."  Then  he  in 
dulged  in  a  strain  of  bitter  humor  on  the  evils  of  poverty  ;  said 
it  made  a  man  mean  to  be  compelled  to  such  shifts  and  turns, 
in  order  to  live;  he  had  lost  his  self-respect,  only  from  debating 
the  question,  when  his  study-fire  was  low,  whether  he  should 
afford  two  sticks  of  seasoned  hickory,  or  try  to  keep  warm 
with  one.  He  tried  an  agency  a  few  weeks,  and  that  made 
him  feel  meaner  yet ;  to  go  cringing  and  bowing  in  at  people's 
back-doors,  or  following  them  to  the  fields,  standing  half  an 
hour,  while  some  boorish  man  hoed  hill  after  hill  of  corn  or 
potatoes,  before  he  could  stop  to  give  him  a  civil  answer.  "  On 
the  whole,"  said  he,  "  much  as  I  grieved  to  abandon  my  pro 
fession,  I  am  quite  reconciled  to  it  now." 

Mary  felt  that  there  was  a  better  view  of  the  matter  than 
this.  She  did  not  endorse  his  sentiments ;  yet  his  words  rankled 
in  her  heart. 

Children's  words  often  reveal  the  public  sentiment  around 
them.  One  day,  Edward  came  home  from  school  with  hia 
gentle  cousin,  his  face  flushed  and  his  dark  eye  flashing  un 
wonted  fire.  Mrs.  Vernon  heard  Abby  say  — 

"  Yes,  Eddie,  dear,  we  ought  to  tell  mama ;  she  will  know 
in  a  minute  if  you  were  right." 

"  What  is  it,  Eddie  ?  "  said  his  aunt. 

"  Abby  may  tell,"  said  he ;  and  he  stood,  half-proudly,  half- 
abashed,  twirling  his  cap  by  the  tassel,  while  that  sweet  voioa 
rehearsed  the  story  thus : 


216  THE   SHADY    SIDE ;     OR, 

"  \Ye  were  coming  from  school,  mama,  and  Annette  Selden 
said  my  new  bonnet  was  nothing  to  be  proud  of;  Mary  Moul- 
ton  wore  it  all  last  winter,  and,  —  you  will  not  feel  bad,  will 
you,  mama  ?  —  she  said  my  father  was  too  poor  to  buy  me  a 
decent  bonnet,  and  so  Mary's  mother  took  pity  on  me,  and  gave 
me  her  old  one." 

Eddie  watched  his  aunt's  face,  over  which  passed  a  sudden 
flush.  "  And  what  did  you  say  to  this,  my  darling  ?  " 

"  /  did  n't  say  anything ;"  and  she  looked  at  Eddie  anx 
iously. 

"  /  did,"  said  the  ingenuous  boy.  "  She  is  a  mvjan-spirited 
girl,  and  I  told  her  so.  I  told  her  I  could  protect  my  cousin 
against  her  insults,  and  that  it  was  no  crime  to  be  poor.  Be 
sides  that,  my  uncle  no  need  to  be  poor  unless  he  had  chosen 
to  be  a  minister  ;  he  could  have  earned  as  much  money  as  her 
father,  if  he  had  set  out  for  it ;  and,  if  there  was  any  disgrace, 
it  belonged  to  her  father,  and  the  rest  of  the  people  here,  that 
did  n't  pay  him  any  better.  And  when  she  made  up  faces  at 
me,  I  told  her,  for  all  her  fine  feathers,  she  was  no  lady." 

"  0,  Edward  !  "  said*  his  aunt,  sorrowfully,  "  that  was 
wrong." 

"  So  cousin  Abby  said;  but  I  think  the  haughty  girl  deserved 
it;  —  a  great  girl,  older  than  I  am,  teasing  a  little  child !  " 

A  sweet  voice  replied,  — "  \Ve  must  not  do  to  those  that 
trouble  us  as  they  deserve,  must  we,  mama  ?  That  is  not  the 
way  Jesus  does  by  us.  I  know  cousin  Eddie  did  it  for  me ;" 
and,  putting  her  arms  around  his  neck,  she  kissed  him,  and  then 
made  him  sit  down,  while  mama  talked  of  the  Bible-way  to 
treat  those  that  use  us  ill.  As  the  supper-bell  rang,  and  Eddie 
went  to  hang  up  his  cap,  he  said,  between  a  smile  and  a  tear, 
"  I  never  expect  to  be  as  good  as  cousin  Abby." 

About  this  time,  we  find  the  following  entry  in  the  Diary : 

"February  25. —  A  mild,  -pring-like  day.  Mrs.  Ellis  sent 
<o  inquire  if  1  felt  able  tc  ste.j,  over  to  her  room.  T  found  h<T 


LIFE   IN   A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  217 

very  feeble ;  she  can  scarcely  last  another  month ;  —  the  wreck 
of  a  noble  woman.  Our  interview  was  very  affecting.  Her 
husband  is  off  on  one  of  his  drinking  sprees  ;  has  scarcely  been 
sober  since  he  was  dismissed  from  the  paper-mill ;  is  always 
srorse  when  out  of  work.  Poor  woman !  She  wanted  to  ex 
press  her  gratitude  for  all  I  had  done  for  her,  and  ask  one  moro 
favor.  It  stirred  my  heart  with  a  grateful  joy,  which  is  a  rich 
reward,  to  hear  her  say,  '  How  can  I  thank  you  enough  for 
what  you  have  done  for  me!  —  not  for  my  bodily  comfort, — 
though  I  appreciate  that,  —  but  for  my  soul ;  for  my  larger 
views  of  Providence ;  my  closer  reliance  on  God ;  my  livelier 
sense  of  the  sympathy  of  Christ.  0,  how  much  nearer  my 
Saviour's  bosom  have  you  led  me !  And  now  I  have  a  dying 
request.  My  child  !  what  will  become  of  her  when  I  am  gone  ? 
I  have  been  thinking  and  praying  over  it,  —  and  it  is  a  great 
tiling  to  ask,  yet  the  Lord  seemed  to  put  it  into  my  heart,  ->- 
will  you  take  Mabel  and  bring  her  up  ?  She  is  thirteen  now, 
and,  in  two  or  three  years,  will  be  able,  perhaps,  to  do  your 
work.  She  is  just  the  age  to  need  a  mother.  If  she  were 
provided  for,  I  could  die  in  peace.' 

"This  was  a  strong  appeal.  I  talked  and  wept  with  the 
poor  woman.  She  asked  me  to  pray  with  her,  and  I  could  not 
refuse.  I  promised  to  confer  with  Mr.  Vernon  about  her  re 
quest  ;  and,  if  it  were  possible,  we  would  take  charge  of  the 
child. 

"  It  would  be  a  great  care  for  me,  —  to  correct  and  instruct, 
yet  I  like  the  appearance  of  the  girl.  But  just  now,  when  we 
are  so  straitened  to  live.  Miss  Polly,  too,  will  doubtless  object, 
^et,  what  an  opportunity  to  do  good  !  and  what  are  our  pro- 
essions  worth,  if  we  are  not  willing  to  be  at  pains,  and  deny 
>urselves  for  the  sake  of  others  ? 

" Edward  leaves  the  decision  with  me.  I  resolve  to  let 

her  come  ;  the  Lord  will  provide. 

"  March  1.  —  I  used  to  think  I  had  some  equanimity  of 
temper ;  yet  I  seem  to  be  losing  it  fast  If  we  remain  hero 


218  THE    fcHADY    SIDE  J     OK, 

much  longer,  I  fear  I  shall  become  impatient  and  ir:  liable.  I 
am  alarmed  and  humbled.  An  incident  occurred  to-day,  which 
I  cannot  recall  without  a  fresh  ebullition  of  indignant  feeling. 
Is  it  best,  then,  to  record  it  ?  I  will  school  my  heart  till  I 
can  do  it  with  Christian  meekness,  more  in  sorrow  than  in 
anger. 

"  A  load  of  ornamental  trees  has  been  brought,  it  seems,  to 
the  village  for  sale.  Mr.  Yernon  was  passing  down  the  street, 
when  Mr.  Walter  called  him  to  the  wagon,  and  told  him  here 
was  a  good  opportunity  to  fill  up  the  broken  row  in  front  of  the 
parsonage.  Edward  had  done  it  once,  but  they  would  not  grow 
in  the  poor  soil,  which  was  made  from  the  cellar.  He  told  Mr. 
Walter  he  would  assist  in  putting  down  the  trees,  when  the 
spring  should  open,  if  they  thought  best  to  purchase  some.  Tc 
his  surprise,  the  man  coolly  replied,  '  O,  the  society  would  n'l 
think  it  their  business  !  We  expect  the  minister  to  do  such 
things.'  Edward  waived  that  point,  and  replied  that  his  purse 
was  low ;  he  could  not  go  into  the  thing  very  extensively.  Mr. 
Walter  began  to  speak  more  positively ;  —  said  '  he  was  sorry  to 
see  the  parsonage  running  down.  Mr.  Smith  took  great  pains 
with  the  fruit  and  shrubbery.  The  peach  trees  had  been  left  to 
run  out ;  and  the  grape-vines  were  all  dead,  but  one,  south  of 
the  house,  and  that  ought  to  have  a  trellis  to  cover  both  win 
dows.  As  for  the  trees  in  front,  there  must  be  another  fir  to 
match  the  one  that  had  got  started.  If  we  build  a  parsonage, 
we  expect  the  minister  will  take  interest  enough  in  it  to  see  to 
these  things,  and  not  let  the  place  run  down  in  his  hands ! ' 
Edward  did  n't  choose  to  have  further  words  before  the  gap 
ing  crowd ;  so  he  took  his  last  dollar  from  his  pocket,  and 
bought  one  of  the  largest  fir-trees.  I  doubt  whether  he  did 
right,  notwithstanding  the  injunction,  '  If  any  man  will  take 
away  thy  coat,  let  him  have  thy  cloak  also.'  It  is  not  the  dollar 
that  I  care  for,  —  though  it  was  the  last,  and  though  it  was  to 
have  bought  me  another  lalf-dozen  of  porter  (I  am  getting 
strength,  and  shall  do  quite  well  without  it,  only  father  must 


LIFE   IN  A   COUNTRY    PAKSUNAGE.  219 

not  know  it),  —  but  it  was  the  exacting  spirit.  The  inhuman 
ity  of  the  thing  makes  my  heart  ache.  My  spirit  rises  up 
against  such  grinding  oppression ;  it  makes  me  ashamed  of 
human  nature.  Ah,  me!  this  will  never  do;  —  these  are  scald 
ing  tears,  not  refreshing.  I  fear  there  is  resentment  under 
neath.  O,  for  grace  to  be  ashamed  of  myself,  that  I  can  bear 
no  more  patiently  the  infirmities  of  others !  I  am  reminded  of 
a  shrewd,  good-humored  old  lady  in  Salem,  who  had  such  an 
arch  way  of  saying,  '  Well,  it  takes  all  sorts  o'  people  to  make 
a  world,  and  I'm  glad  I  a'n't  one  of  'era.'  " 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

"  There  's  not  a  flock,  however  watched  and  tended, 

But  one  dead  lainb  is  there  ; 
There  's  not  a  household,  howsoe'er  defended, 
But  has  one  vacant  chair  " 

IT  is  March  again.  The  pastor's  half-year's  salary  has 
been  mostly  received  in  family  necessaries,  at  exorbitant  prices. 
What  remains  he  must  again  wait  upon  them  for,  till  times  are 
easier.  The  pecuniary  pressure  is  at  its  height ;  the  paper- 
mill  is  closed  ;  the  woollen  and  cotton  factories  are  doing  little 
business  ;  the  heavy  strokes  of  the  foundery,  alone,  boom  on  a*» 
steadily  as  ever.  Still,  the  panic  does  not  invade  the  domestic 
comfort  of  the  Millville  manufacturers.  They  eat,  and  drink, 
and  dress  as  usual.  Not  so  with  their  minister.  He  is  one  of 
the  operatives.  His  table  misses  some  of  its  wonted  fare  ;  his 
wardrobe  tells  the  tale  of  retrenchment ;  his  brow  bears  the 
marks  of  corroding  care.  His  wife,  too,  is  plainly  and  scantily 
attired.  True,  she  looks  well,  but  it  is  not  by  any  adventitious 
aid.  Mrs.  Selden  is  vexed  that  (he  minister's  wife  can  appear 
so  genteelly  in  such  mean  attire,  without  velvets,  or  cashmeres 
or  furs. 


220  THE   SHADY   SIDE  ;     OR, 

With  returning  health,  Mary  redoubles  her  efforts  for  her 
husband,  but  with  less  success  than  formerly.  He  writes  a  ser 
mon  not  much  oftener  than  once  a  month.  What  he  does  write, 
is  done  well.  Many  unfinished  "outlines"  lie  on  and  under 
neath  his  study-table.  He  mates  frequent  exchanges  with  his 
brethren  ,  he  repeats  his  former  discourses,  which  have  the 
misfortune  to  be,  most  of  them,  too  striking  and  original  to 
escape  remembrance.  He  is  harrowed  ever  by  the  echo  of  an 
inward  whisper,  "  Who  would  have  thought  it  would  come  to 
this  ?  " 

Yet,  he  is  far  from  being  entirely  wretched.  God  has  not 
wholly  withdrawn  the  light  of  his  countenance.  There  are 
times  when  he  casts  his  burden  on  the  Lord,  and  is  sustained. 
Ever  and  anon,  he  dismisses  all  embittered  feeling,  humbles 
himself  under  his  Father's  hand,  and  is  '  holpen  with  a  little 
help.'  He  can  sometimes  say,  "  In  the  multitude  of  my 
thoughts  within  me,  thy  comforts  delight  rny  soul."  The 
Saviour's  presence  occasionally  enlightens  all  his  darkness  ;  he 
feeds  on  heavenly  manna,  and  feels,  like  Elijah,  that  he  can  go 
in  the  strength  of  that  meat  forty  days  and  forty  nights, 
though,  alas !  it  seldom  carries  him  many  paces  beyond  the 
juniper-tree.  In  his  straits,  moreover,  he  has  had  many  provi 
dential  interpositions  to  acknowledge, — a  better  commentary 
on  the  promises  than  any  his  library  could  boast.  There,  too, 
is  the  unequalled  joy  of  being  a  son  of  consolation  to  many  a 
poor  and  way-worn  pilgrim,  who,  in  a  chamber  of  suffering,  or 
on  a  dying-bed,  blesses  God  for  his  words  of  comfort  and  salva 
tion. 

Many  happy  hours  have  also  been  granted  in  the  bosom 
of  his  family.  What  a  companion  to  be  thankful  for !  — 
what  loving  babes  to  beguile  him  of  his  heavy  thoughts  !  He 
cannot  reflect,  without  perceiving  that  he  has  had  many  com 
forts,  —  far  more  than  he  has  deserved  at  the  hand  of  his  God. 
Neither  can  he  review  the  past,  without  the  conviction  that  he 
has,  in  a  sense  been  "  weighe1!  in  the  balance  and  found  want- 


LITE   IN    A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  221 

ing  He  has  endured  well  a  few  things  ;  but  the  injunction 
is  to  endure  all  things,  —  to  overcome,  —  to  hold  fast,  and  be 
patient  unto  the  end. 

And  how  has  it  been  with  the  gentle,  brave,  devoted  wife  ? 
lias  she  possessed  her  soul  in  patience,  with  the  unruffled  meek 
ness,  the  unmixed  charity,  the  unrecriminating  forgiveness  and 
cheerful  submission  of  an  angel  ?  0,  no  !  —  angels  are  rare  on 
earth,  even  in  the  form  of  the  best  of  womankind.  Ask  Ma 
ry's  nearest  friends,  and  they  will  tell  you  she  has  been  most 
exemplary  in  the  trying  circumstances  allotted  her.  Her 
husband  will  bear  witness  to  her  patien -e^  her  fortitude,  hei 
denial  of  self,  her  heroic  endurance,  her  lepaying  of  evil  with 
good,  her  smiles  amid  tears,  her  hope  against  hope,  her  cheer 
ful  trust  in  God,  her  childlike  acquiescence  in  his  blessed  will. 
He  will  tell  you,  in  short,  that  she  is  a  model  of  a  Christian 
woman,  and  that  he  does  not  deserve  so  good  a  wife. 

But,  ask  Mary  herself,  or  let  her  ask  her  own  heart,  and  its 
honest  answer  will  be  laden  with  many  a  penitent  confession. 
She  has  been  frail  and  erring.  Her  estimate  of  the  faults  of 
the  people  has  not,  with  all  her  allowances,  been  the  fruit  of  a 
calm  judgment.  The  heart  has  been  too  much  in  it,  tinctured 
with  a  bitterness  that  has  often  interfered  with  her  own  peace. 
She  has  been  at  times  restive  under  the  rod,  failing  to  look 
beyond  second  causes  to  Him  who  appointed  it.  She  has  been 
wounded  at  a  vulnerable  point,  in  the  pride  of  a  devoted  wife 
for  a  noble  and  gifted  husband.  Sensitive  to  his  declining 
fame,  she  has  found  it  difficult  to  look  charitably  on  a  people 
through  whose  means  a  blight  has  come  over  so  much  promise. 
Her  harsh  censures  of  others,  when  she  might  have  tranquil- 
lized  his  spirit  by  soothing  words,  she  now  laments,  as  added 
fuel  to  the  fire  that  was  consuming  his  peace.  In  after  years, 
she  will  look  back  to  these  days  of  trial  with  deep  humility, 
and  with  a  new  appreciation  of  God's  design  in  so  mysterious  a 
dispensation. 

And  now,  their  heavenly  Father  sees  that  a  new  stroke  if 
19* 


222  THE   SHADY    SIDE  ;     OR, 

needed  ;  and  though  his  heart  of  infinite  compassion  yearn  over 
his  suffering  ihildren,  he  will  not,  falsely  indulgent,  spare  the 
utmost  virtue  of  the  rod. 

One  bleak,  raw  day,  in  this  fatal  month  of  March,  their 
eldest  darling  comes  from  the  heated  school-room,  and  walks 
slowly  home,  looking  often  round,  and  waiting  for  Eddie,  who 
has  run  back,  at  her  earnest  entreaty,  to  help  a  little  urchin 
that  has  lost  his  shoe  in  the  mud  and  snow.  Before  morning, 
the  parents  are  alarmed  by  a  hard  breathing  from  the  trundle 
bed,  and  their  fears  are  justly  excited  by  the  presence  of  that 
destroyer  of  a  multitude  of  parental  hopes  —  the  croup. 

The  doctor  was  hastily  summoned,  and  his  skill  sedulously 
exerted;  but  all  medical  treatment  was  vain.  Dear  little 
Abby !  From  the  first,  she  thought  of  death,  drawing  her 
mother  down  to  whisper  in  her  ear,  "  If  I  should  die,  mama, 
you  know  I  am  not  afraid."  No  fond  parent,  who  has  lost  a 
child,  need  be  told  how  at  first  these  hearts  shrunk  from  the 
prospect,  and  the  will,  in  imperative  outcry,  said,  "  It  cannot 
be !  It  must  not  be !  O !  it  will  not  be."  None  but  a 
parent  can  know  the  agony  of  seeing  a  child  suffer  for  breath, 
without  the  power  to  afford  the  slightest  alleviation,  till  death 
even  is  hailed  as  a  relief. 

Little  Abby  bore  her  suffering  bravely,  speaking  such  words 
of  courage,  and  affection,  and  Christian  trust,  as  amazed  those 
who  knew  not  the  sweet,  holy  power  of  faith  and  love  in  the 
heart  of  a  child.  Truly,  of  such  are  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 
At  one  time  she  said,  "  Mama,  if  Jesus  wants  me  there,  ought 
you  not  to  be  willing  ?  "  and  she  would  not  rest,  till  her  mother 
could  assure  her,  through  blinding  tears,  that  she  hoped  she 
was  willing.  "  0  !  "  said  the  dear  child,  "  I  wish  you  could 
smile,  and  say  it."  Again,  seeing  her  father  look  at  her  with 
regretful  tenderness,  she  interpreted  his  thought,  and  said, 
"  You  will  have  Nellie." 

She  had  a  word  for  all.  ,  To  her  cousin,  she  spoke  of  Jesus, 
and  heaven,  and  his  own  soul,  and  asked  him,  "If  he  would 


LIFE  IN   A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  223 

please,  sometimes,  rock  the  baby,  as  she  did,  and  let  mama  go 
up  to  the  study  to  comfort  papa." 

As  the  disease  progressed,  speech  was  more  and  more  diffi 
cult,  yet  her  eye  was  eloquent  with  love  and  hope. 

Toward  the  last,  Mr.  Vernon's  fortitude  forsook  him.  He 
could  not  witness  the  distress  of  the  child.  But,  mother-like, 
Mary  hushed  the  great  agony  of  her  heart,  that  she  might  not 
lose  a  word  or  look,  or  pressure  of  the  hand,  while  life  re- 
inained. 

The  second  day,  at  the  going  down  of  the  sun,  it  was  evident 
that  the  little  sufferer  could  not  much  longer  endure.  The  last 
words  of  the  dying  child  were  characteristic  of  her,  —  true  to 
the  impulses  caught  from  the  mother's  daily  example.  In  a 
short  interval  of  less  suffering,  her  father  came  in  and  kissed 
her  cold  lips  with  something  like  composure,  and  told  her  she 
had  almost  reached  her  heavenly  home.  She  bent  on  him  those 
deep,  spiritual  eyes,  where  the  soul  seemed  to  reside,  rather 
than  look  through,  and  said,  affectionately,  "  By-and-by,  papa 
will  come;  and  mama,  and  Allie,  and  all,  —  all  come  home." 
With  that  word,  commenced  another  distressing  paroxysm. 
Her  father  again  retreated.  Mr.  Clifton  took  her  in  his  arms, 
and,  during  the  dreadful  struggle,  the  dear  child,  it  seemed,  heard 
her  father  pacing  up  and  down  the  adjoining  room.  Making  an 
effort  to  speak  once  more,  she  said,  "  Dear  —  Saviour,  —  com 
fort  papa"  —  threw  her  arms  round  her  mother's  neck,  and 
soon  expired. 

Now  was  Mary's  turn  to  bow  her  head  like  a  bulrush.  The 
strong  tide  of  feeling,  rolled  back,  lest  it  should  distress  the 
child,  or  unfit  her  for  its  care,  returned  with  resistless  force, 
all  the  stronger  for  long  constraint.  The  husband,  now  that 
the  fatal  issue  was  past,  —  now  that  there  was  no  more  sight 
of  suffering  to  unnerve  him,  —  stood  by  her  side  in  manly  com 
posure  ;  a  prop  on  which  to  lean,  a  tender  counsellor,  an  able 
comforter,  next  to  her  God,  a  strong  support.  He  knew  the 
art.  which  too  few  understand,  —  the  art  of  effective  sympathy 


224  THE   SHADY   SIDE;    OB, 

and  consolation.  It  was  not  long  ere  they  could  both  look  up 
and  thank  God  that  their  little  one  had  gone  to  dwell  with  the 
angels,  before  his  face. 

With  a  calm  submission  and  holy  trust,  they  laid  the  beau 
tiful  form  in  the  village  grave-yard,  among  strangers  to  her 
kin ;  while,  on  the  burial  scene,  looked  many  tearful  eyes,  the 
March  winds  wailing  no  gentle  requiem.  Among  the  few  who 
followed  them  to  their  bereaved  home  was  their  old  Scotch  friend, 
who  took  them  by  the  hand,  and  said,  "  Aweel,  ye  canna  greet 
ea  very  sair.  She  was  mair  like  heaven  than  earth.  Mony  a 
time  I  watched  her  in  the  kirk,  and  kend  she  wad  be  sent  for. 
Of  sic'  is  the  kingdom." 


.     CHAPTER  XXIX. 

"  Joy  hath  its  ministries,  but  griefs  are  fraught 
With  gentler  blessings." 

ONE  week  after  little  Abby's  burial  there  was  another  death, 
which  left  Mabel  Ellis  motherless.  Faithful  to  her  promise, 
Mrs.  Vernon  took  her  home.  Mabel  was  a  stout  girl,  with 
square  face,  and  broad  shoulders,  and  gray  eyes;  with  strong 
common  sense,  a  quick  appreciation  of  kindness,  and  a  warm, 
affectionate  heart. 

And  now  a  new  stream  of  gossip  is  set  in  motion,  augment 
ing  as  it  flows.  Two  hired  girls  at  the  parsonage !  Who 
could  expect  to  live,  with  such  extravagance  ?  Miss  Polly,  at 
first,  rebelled,  and  declared  she  would  leave  if  that  girl  came 
but,  upon  second  thoughts,  she  resolved  to  stay,  and  make  use 
of  the  new  comer  to  lighten  her  own  tasks. 

Soft  and  odorous  as  the  perfume  of  crushed  flowers  is  the 
atmosphere  at  the  parsonage,  where  the  angel  of  death  has  left 
two  smitten  hearts.  These  chastened  ones  are  walking  softly 
before  their  God.  Tears  for  the  dead,  welling  up  from  tha 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  225 

deep  places  of  the  heart,  have  softened  and  purified  In  their 
flow  How  blessed  is  the  grief  that  sinks  its  shaft  so  low,  — 
that  drives  the  ploughshare  beneath  every  root  of  bitterness  and 
repining,  making  the  soil  mellow  and  fruitful ! 

Nor  was  comfort  wanting  in  that  house  of  mourning.  To 
the  eye  of  faith,  One  walked  there  whose  form  was  like  unto 
that  of  the  Son  of  God.  "  Fear  not ;  I  am  with  thee." 
There  was  a  holy  hush  on  those  bowed  spirits.  "  It  is  the 
Lord,  let  him  do  what  seemeth  him  good." 

They  sought  not  consolation  at  Lethe's  cup,  as  did  a  young, 
pleasure-loving  mother,  who,  reminded  of  the  darling  she  had 
buried  a  twelve-month  previous,  said,  "  I  don't  wish  to  speak 
of  him,  —  it  makes  me  very  unhappy."  These  Christian  pa 
rents  did  not  purchase  peace,  by  forgetfulness.  The  child  was 
not  dead  to  them,  —  only  removed  beyond  their  sight.  Her 
angel-presence  was  with  them  oft,  —  in  the  stilly  night,  —  at 
the  day  dawn,  —  at  the  hour  of  prayer,  —  in  the .  song  of 
praise.  There  is  a  new  tie  between  their  hearts  and  heaven. 
They  have  a  human  treasure  there.  The  home  of  glory  is 
nearer,  —  it  is  more  real.  From  their  darkened  dwelling  they 
catch  new  beams  of  the  celestial  light..  Their  eyes,  now  often 
upturned,  see  new  revealings  of  the  God  of  love.  Their  human 
sympathies  become  a  sanctified  medium  of  spiritual  blessings. 

"  Let  us  honor  God,"  said  Edward,  "  by  our  cheerful  spirit 
under  his  correction.  Let  not  a  sad,  desponding  countenance 
belie  our  words  of  submission,  and  show  that  we  valued  the 
gift,  however  precious,  above  the  Giver." 

What  more  touching  and  more  honorable  to  divine  grace, 
than  the  sight  of  a  bereaved  household  with  the  tenderest  sen 
sibilities,  bowing  meekly  under  the  rod,  smiling  through  their 
tears,  able  to  say,  "  Whom  have  we  in  heaven  but  Thee,  and 
there  is  none  upon  earth  that  we  desire  besides  thee,"  — 
rejoicing  in  God  through  the  longest,  darkest  night  of  sorrow, 
with  a  song  in  the  heart,  even  wb.3n  the  utterance  is  choked  by 
grief? 


226  TIIE  SHADY  SIDE;   OR, 

And  did  not  this  new  affliction  at  the  parsonage  rally  the 
flock  around  the  stricken  pastor  ?  In  not  a  few  hearts  there 
was,  indeed,  a  livelier  sympathy.  But  such  things  have  less 
influence  in  softening  antipathies  than  a  superficial  observer 
would  suppose  Mr.  Vernon's  oppcsers  interpreted  it  as  the 
judgment  of  a  frowning  Providence. 

While  the  bereavement  was  still  fresh,  Mary  stood  by  the 
dying  bed  of  Mrs.  Mills,  Deacon  Slocum's  sister-in-law  She 
met  with  a  cool  reception  from  all  except  the  dying  woman,  who 
pressed  her  hand  affectionately,  and  whispered,  "  My  girls,  — 
do  care  for  them  when  I  am  gone."  The  doctor  thought  she 
might  last  through  the  day,  and  Mrs.  Vernon  offered  to  lay  off 
her  bonnet  and  remain  a  few  hours.  Old  Mrs.  Slocum  seemed 
much  excited  by  the  offer,  and  replied,  "  Oh,  no !  —  you  had 
better  not  stay.  Your  health  is  so  poor,  you  could  n't  do 
much." 

Mary  answered,  meekly,  "  It  would  be  a  privilege  to  sit  by 
her ;  I  might  fan  her,  and  moisten  her  lips."  The  old  lady 
interrupted  her  with  the  sharp  remark,  "  I  guess  we  shan't 
neglect  her."  Mary  hastily  bade  the  last  adieu,  the  eyes  of 
her  dying  friend  following  her  with  remorseful  tenderness  as 
she  left  the  room  in  tears.  She  went  home  with  a  wounded 
spirit ;  and,  when  the  bell  tolled  at  the  going  down  of  the  sun, 
said  to  Edward,  "  The  last  tie  that  bound  us  to  that  house  i» 
broken." 

The  spring  had  gone,  and,  with  the  opening  suramer,  tho 
times  were  easier,  and  business  men  began  to  breathe  more 
freely.  Yet,  to  the  poor  pastor  there  came  no  relief.  His 
flour  was  gone,  and  there  was  none  to  be  had,  except  for  cash. 
Of  this  he  had  not  a  penny. 

The  case  became  more  urgent,  and  he  bethought  himself  of  a 
curious  gold  coin  in  his  secretary,  the  gift  of  his  beloved  sister, 
in  his  boyhood.  He  had  seen  one  or  two  extremities  before, 
when  he  thought  of  this  resort.  He  had  taken  the  piece  in 
his  hand,  but  his  heart  r-»se  to  his  throat,  and  it  seemed  a  sac- 


Ul'E   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  227 

rilege  to  expend  it.  Hitherto,  Providence  had  obviated  the 
necessity.  Now,  hjwever,  there  was  no  alternative.  His  wife 
and  children  must  have  bread.  So  his  dead  sister's  treasured 
keepsake  was  appropriated  beyond  recall. 

Mr.  Vernon  had  no  design  of  remaining  in  Millville  beyond 
the  present  year  ;  yet  his  departure  was  precipitated  by  other 
agencies  than  his  own. 

The  reigning  influences  in  the  society  were  betrayed  by  Aunt 
Hannah,  as,  in  one  of  her  visiting  rounds,  she  brought  up  at 
the  parsonage.  The  kind  creature,  wishing  to  make  herself 
useful,  generally  volunteered  her  aid  at  clear-starching  and 
crimping,  at  which  she  was  an  adept.  With  her  bowl  of  starch 
oa  the  kitchen  table,  and  her  irons  in  the  cook -stove,  and  the 
doors  open  to  the  back  parlor,  she  promenaded  the  intervening 
space,  clapping  the  muslins  and  retailing  the  gossip. 

"  I  do  say,  Mrs.  Vernon,  it 's  a  wonder  your  husband  has 
any  patience  with  such  a  people.     I  wish  he  knew  what  Moul 
ton  is  up  to  now.     I  wish  he  'd  get  the  start  of  'em." 

Mary  sat  revolving  this,  while  Aunt  Hannah  went  back  for 
another  collar. 

"  Mrs.  Pulton,  too.  I  should  n't  have  thought  it,  —  they  were 
both  so  anxious  to  have  him  stay,  when  he  tried  so  hard  to  go. 
Now,  to  put  their  heads  together  in  this  way.  She  wants  him 
to  give  the  hint,  and  he  thinks  Elton  might  do  it ;  and  deacon 
says,  unless  they  stir  about  it,  he  '11  bring  it  up  in  open  meet 
ing,  and  see  what  can  be  done." 

i  It  had  always  seemed  to  Mary,  that  her  husband's  talents 
were  too  confessedly  superior,  not  to  procure  for  him  tolerance 
in  the  failures  arising  from  the  pressure  of  such  peculiar  trials 
as  he  had  met  in  Millville.  The  drift  of  Aunt  Hannah's 
remarks  awoke  her  to  a  new  view  of  the  subject.  She  wisely 
forbore  comment,  and  her  visitor  went  into  a  collateral  matter. 

"  I  called  at  Mrs.  Nobles'  a  minute.  I  don't  know  what 's 
got  into  this  people.  She  said  I  'd  better  come  up  here  •  she 
should  think  you  ~Mght.  want  a  little  more  help.  She  wondered 


228  THE   SHADY   SIDE;     OR 

what  you  should  want  of  two  girls  ;  —  said  you  :d  better  send 
one  of  'era  to  poor  Mrs.  Hine,  who  was  sick  and  could  n't  gel 
anybody." 

Mary  sighed,  gently,  and  replied,  "  Can  they  not  appreciate 
my  motives  in  taking  that  child  ?  I  thought  every  one  knew 
the  circumstances.  Mrs.  Nobles  must  see  her  go  to  school 
every  day." 

"  None  so  blind  as  those  that  will  not  see  !  "  replied  Aunt 
Hannah.  "  I  tell  'era,  if  they  could  be  here  awhile,  and  know 
how  much  poor  health  you  have,  and  how  many  cares,  —  with 
that  fat  baby,  too,  to  nurse  and  lug  about,  —  they  never  would 
Bay,  again,  what  an  easy  life  our  minister's  wife  leads !  I  tell 
'em,  if  they  want  to  fault  Mr.  Vernon,  they  need  n't  be  putting 
it  off  on  you." 

"  0,  yes  !  "  said  Mary,  laughingly  ;  "  I  can  endure  it  better 
than  he." 

"  You  don't  look  like  enduring  much,"  said  Aunt  Hannah  ; 
"  but  Dr.  Gale  says,  they  may  say  what  they  like  about  the 
parson's  wife,  she  's  more  courage  and  fortitude  than  half  a 
dozen  of  'em." 

Mary's  eyes  ached,  and  her  cheek  burned,  and  her  heart  was 
heavy.  She  was  glad  when  Aunt  Hannah  had  crimped  the 
last  ruffle,  drank  her  third  cup  of  tea,  and  said  her  last  good 
night. 

That  evening  there  was  a  long  conference  in  the  nursery. 
Low,  troubled  voices  mingled  with  the  soft  breathings  of  the 
children ;  and  the  voice  of  prayer  arose  there,  long  after  thp 
village  was  wrapt  in  slumber. 

Mr.  Vernon  soon  held  an  interview  with  Moulton,  that  con 
firmed  his  suspicions,  and,  without  further  delay,  f  e  renewed 
his  request  for  a  dismission.  It  was  received,  by  the  majority 
of  the  people,  with  profound  regret ;  by  the  conservatives, 
with  poorly  feigned  reluctance ;  by  his  active  opposers,  with 
open  triumph. 

The  council  heard  the  story,  and  gave  their  consent.     As 


LIFE   IN   A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  229 

Mr.  Vernon  told  them  of  his  straits,  he  alluded  to  the  incident 
of  the  flour  and  precious  relic.  Mr.  Lampoon  said,  '  You  should 
never  let  your  pnrse  get  so  low.  /  always  consider  myself  out 
of  money  when  I  have  but  five  dollars  left." 

Father  Elliott  looked  over  his  glasses,  and  asked  Mr.  Vernon 
how  long  he  had  been  in  the  ministry. 

"  About  six  years,"  was  the  reply.  "  And,"  said  the  face 
tious  minister,  "  you  have  kept  a  pocket-piece  so  long  !  You 
may  consider  yourself,  sir,  more  fortunate  than  most  of  your 
brethren.  It 's  time  you  lost  it,  or  you  might  doubt  your 
call ! " 

When  people  from  abroad  asked  the  reason  of  Mr.  Vernon's 
dismission,  Mrs.  Elton's  ready  answer  was,  "  He  was  very  tal 
ented,  but  unequal  and  moody.  He  did  n't  grow  (!)  as  we 
expected.  He  had  to  wait  upon  his  wife  so  much,  it  took  up 
his  time,  and  he  became  disheartened.  She  was  quite  intel 
lectual,  and  had  a  good  spirit ;  but  sick  most  of  the  time,  and 
nervous.  He  is  very  sensitive,  and  it 's  no  wonder  it  broke 
him  down.  Wo  have  been  very  unfortunate  in  our  ministers' 
wives !  " 

Good  Mrs.  Wells  said  she  could  n't  be  reconciled  to  parting 
with  the  minister's  folks.  When  Mr.  Smith  left,  she  declared 
she  never  wpuld  love  another  minister ;  "  but,"  said  she,  "  I 
could  n't  help  it,  Mr.  Vernon  was  so  pleasing  in  his  ways ; 
then,  there 's  something  about  him  I  never  saw  in  any  one  else ; 
sometimes  he  was  just  like  a  grieved  child.  His  wife,  too,  a 
perfect  lady,  put  up  with  our  plain  ways ;  and  they  took  such 
an  interest,  —  coining  in  and  sitting  right  down  in  our  kitchen, 
as  if  they  were  to  home,  —  and  now  they  must  go.  It  a' 
most  breaks  my  heart ;"  and  she  wiped  her  eyes  on  the  corner 
of  her  checked  apron.  "  I  wish  I  was  back  to  the  old  church 
on  the  hill." 

In  settling  his  pecuniary  affairs  at  Millville,  the  poverty- 
stricken  pastor  found  himself  "  minus  "  in  a  larger  sum  than 
he  had  anticipated.  To  liquidate  all  his  obligations  from  the 
20 


230  THK   SHADY    SIDE;    OR, 

first,  required  the  amount  of  four  hundred  dollars.  The  people 
did  not  see  how  it  came  to  pass,  especially,  considering  the 
splendid  donation  party.  Where  should  he  turn  for  this  sum  ? 
A  part  of  the  claims  were  urgent.  There  was  Miss  Polly's  bill 
for  a  year  and  a  half.  Susan  Beach  he  could  not  leave  unpaid. 
He  made  a  hasty  journey  to  Salem,  and  tried  to  dispose  of  his 
place  ,  but  wrote  back  that  he  could  not  do  it  without  a  great 
sacrifice. 

While  he  was  gone,  Mr.  Moulton  came  in  to  look  at  the 
piano.  Jennie  was  taking  lessons,  and  he  was  about  to  pur 
chase.  He  knew  this  to  be  a  fine-toned  instrument,  and  called 
to  ask  where  it  was  purchased,  and  the  cost.  After  he  left,  an 
idea  entered  Mary's  mind,  which  she  revolved  long  and  with 
much  emotion.  She  rose,  at  length,  with  a  decided  air,  and 
stepped  across  the  street  to  Mr.  Moultoa's,  with  a  proposal  that 
was  accepted.  It  was  no  less  than  this ;  that  her  piano  be 
removed  to  Mrs.  Moulton's  parlor,  for  Jennie's  use,  in  return 
for  which,  the  sum  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  (half  the 
original  cost)  be  loaned  without  interest.  In  short,  Mary  pro 
posed  to  pawn  the  piano  for  its  lowest  value  as  a  second-hand 
instrument,  with  the  understanding  that  she  might  redeem  it 
whenever  she  chose.  This,  she  confidently  expected,  would  be 
soon,  —  whenever  they  should  sell  the  place  in  Salem.  To  do 
this,  cost  her  a  struggle  ;  but  hers  was  a  heroic  spirit.  When 
Edward  returned,  and  his  consent  was  asked,  he  suffered  a  still 
harder  conflict,  but  yielded  at  length  to  her  entreaty,  and  rati 
fied  the  contract. 

Then  followed  the  packing  up  and  storage  of  household  goods 
and  chattels ;  then  the  leave-taking.  The  locality  had  few 
charms  for  Mary ;  still,  it  was  leaving  a  place  that  had  borne 
the  sacred  name  of  home.  There  were  a  few  friends,  too, 
whom  she  dearly  loved.  One  spot  alone  chained  her  heart, 
and  was  as  consecrated  ground,  —  her  darling's  grave.  Long 
did  she  lean  over  that  little  marble  pillar,  in  the  summer  mooo- 


LIFE   IN   A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  231 

light,  and  wish  —  while  she  repelled  the  weakness  —  that  she 
could  carry  with  her  the  precious  dust. 

Here  was  a  tie  that  linked  this  removal  with  their  last ;  and 
her  thoughts  went  back  to  that  autumn  evening,  when  the 
moonbeams  fell  across  Carrie's  grave,  in  the  old  Salem  church 
yard.  Again  the  electric  chain  was  struck,  and  another  link 
was  revealed ;  her  mother's  tomb,  in  the  gray  twilight  of  a 
winter's  morning,  to  which  she  bade  adieu  from  the  chamber  of 
her  girlhood's  home. 

We  next  find  the  minister's  family  quite  at  home  in  the  old 
mansion  at  Mayfield.  Master  Eddie  is  the  doctor's  pupil  in 
Latin  ;  in  other  branches,  "  Aunt  Mary  "  hears  his  recitations. 
Mabel  Ellis  is  busy  as  a  bee  wherever  she  is  wanted,  —  in 
nursery  or  kitchen,  —  all  the  while  receiving  that  careful 
nurture  which  consists  of  daily  instruction,  correction,  and 
example. 

Mr.  Vernon  is  not  the  man  to  throw  himself  and  family, 
without  a  struggle,  on  the  hospitality  of  a  father-in-law,  whose 
utmost  efforts  but  just  keep  his  estate  out  of  the  hands  of  cred 
itors.  But  what  can  he  do  ?  He  is  in  a  condition  worse,  if 
possible,  than  when  making  desperate  exertions  to  sustain  him 
self  in  Millville  pulpit.  True,  there  burns  in  his  soul  no 
resentment ;  the  fires  of  disappointed  ambition,  too,  have  gone 
out,  —  quenched  in  tears  of  penitence.  He  is  humble  and  sub 
dued  ;  has  ceased  to  war  with  his  allotment ;  but  the  spring 
of  his  mental  activities,  whose  elasticity  was  so  long  tried  by 
lu'avy  pressure,  has  snapped  asunder,  and  left  him  prostrate. 
He  is  dispirited,  and  incapable  of  effort ;  doubts  whether  the 
Lord  will  give  him  any  more  to  do  in  his  vineyard  ;  doubts  his 
ability  to  do ;  distrusts  his  motives  ;  is  willing  to  take  a  very 
low  place,  and  bid  farewell  forever  to  the  world's  applause,  and 
his  old  dreams  of  greatness.  Withal,  bodily  indisposition  is 
too  apparent  and  serious  not  to  awaken  the  anxious  fears  of  his 
friends.  Dr.  Allison  recommends  a  journey,  and  he  resolves  to 


THE   SHADtf    SIDE  ;    OR, 

follow  the  prescription ;  yet  this  is  one  of  the  "  all  things '; 
which  "-money  "  alone  "  answereth." 

"  0  !  "  sighed  he,  "  how  could  I  be  so  foolish  as  to  buy  a 
house  ?  If  the  money  had  been  put  into  the  savings  bank, 
instead  "  — 

"  We  should  have  spent  it  long  ago,  in  our  straits,"  inter 
rupted  Mary,  playfully. 

"  What  do  you  think,"  said  he,  "  of  selling  Pompey  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Mary,  "  he  is  decidedly  too  intelligent  for  a 
minister's  horse.  He  knows  the  difference  between  swamp-hay 
and  upland,  and  shakes  his  head  too  sagely  over  musty  proven 
der.  But  I  would  not  sell  him  now" 

Something,  however,  must  be  done.  Ho  makes  another  trip 
to  Salem.  (Tears  start,  unbidden,  at  sight  of  the  dear,  quiet 
old  town.)  He  takes  advice  of  Mr.  Cook,  and  resolves  to  sell 
his  house  at  public  auction.  He  values  it  at  fifteen  hundred 
dollars ;  —  it  is  knocked  down  at  nine  hundred ;  four  of  which 
he  receives  in  ready  money,  and  the  rest  in  promissory  notes,  a 
hundred  annually,  till  the  whole  is  paid. 

Though  pained  at  the  sacrifice,  still  the  minister  and  his  wife 
are  thankful  for  ability  to  conform  to  the  letter  of  the  inspired 
precept,  "  Owe  no  man  anything.'  There  is  barely  enough  left 
to  redeem  the  piano.  Shall  it  be  thus  appropriated  ?  Edward 
urges  the  affirmative.  Mary's  judgment  has  too  long  controlled 
her  feelings  to  be  overcome  here.  The  money  is  retained  for 
current  expenses. 

It  is  a  sultry  morning  in  August,  when  our  invalid  minister 
starts  on  a  distant  journey,  in  pursuit  of  health.  "  The  angel 
of  the  covenant  go  with  him,  with  healing  for  the  spirit,"  was 
Mary's  benediction,  as  she  stood  under  the  drooping  elm,  and 
watched  him  out  of  sight. 


LIFE   IN   A   COUNTRY   PARSONAGE. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

"  We  have  sifted  your  objection*." 

WE  arc  strongly  tempted,  here,  to  break  the  thread  of  oaf 
story,  and  have  a  chat  with  our  auditors.  We  seem  to  hear  an 
impatient  movement  among  those  who  have  listened  quietly 
thus  far,  to  our  plain,  unvarnished  tale.  Voices  are  becoming 
audible,  on  either  side,  whose  murmur  portends  some  decided 
expression  of  individual  opinion,  —  not  without  some  dissonance, 
—  in  reference  to  out  friend,  Mr.  Vernon.  Hear,  hear ! 
What  says  the  gentleman  on  our  right  ? 

"  I  think  your  minister  an  unaccountably  foolish  fellow ;  — 
when  he  had  a  good  profession,  —  a  noble  profession,  to  which 
he  was,  every  way,  adapted ;  in  which  he  might,  by  this  time, 
have  grown  rich  and  famous,  —  to  abandon  it  for  such  a  thank 
less,  impoverishing  business  as  preaching.  He  sees  the  end  of 
it  now,  and  may  blame  himself.  I  know  they  want  good  men 
in  the  pulpit ;  but  Vernon  is  too  capital  a  fellow  to  be  sacrificed 
there." 

Honorable  sir,  allow  us  to  say,  that  you  seem  somewhat  con 
tracted  in  your  views  of  things.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a 
thing  as  conscience,  in  the  choice  of  a  profession  ?  Did  you 
evor  read  the  history  of  one  Paul,  a  man  of  splendid  talents, 
who  abandoned  the  bar  for  the  pulpit  ?  Will  you  examine  the 
matter  a  little  closer,  and  tell  us  why  the  pulpit  should  not 
command  men  capable  of  the  clearest  argument,  the  closest 
logic,  the  most  impassioned  appeal  ?  If  we  need  eloquent  men 
to  defend  our  worldly  rights,  and  our  mortal  lives,  whom  do  we 
need  to  plead  our  immortal  interests,  where  the  stake  is  worth 
as  much  as  heaven  and  the  undying  soul  ?  As  to  the  "  end," 
dear  sir,  the  end  is  not  yet.  What  though  the  professidn 
20* 


234  TIIE   SUADT    SIDE ;    OB, 

invoke  the  loss  of  all  things?  It  is  onlj  a  temporary  loss. 
When  the  judgment  is  rendered,  the  advocates  will  be  rewarded 
with  a  large  draft  on  an  unfailing  treasury,  —  an  end  which 
some  people  are  too  near-sighted  to  discover,  but  which,  after 
all,  is  not  very  distant. 

We  will  now  hear  the  gentleman  on  our  left. 

"  I  wished  to  ask  the  historian,  what  means  this  frowning 
Providence,  if  the  man  has  not,  after  all,  mistaken  his  calling  ? 
Ought  not  so  many  trials  to  confirm  his  old  scruples,  and  justify 
the  conclusion  that  he  is  out  of  his  sphere  ?  "  * 

A  very  lawful  question,  Mr.  Foggyman,  and  one  we  will  be 
happy  to  clear  up  for  you.  When  was  ever  the  path  of  duty  a 
smooth,  even  course?  God  chastens  in  love  oftener  than  in 
wrath.  With  his  ministering  servants  he  has  a  double  end  to 
secure  by  his  providential  treatment,  —  the  nurture  of  their 
own  souls,  their  personal  salvation,  and  the  qualifying  of 
them  for  their  official  work,  so  as  best  to  subserve  the  spiritual 
nurture  of  the  flock  committed  to  them.  This  double  end  often 
demands  a  peculiar  and  more  varied  use  of  affliction  than  falls 
to  the  lot  of  other  men.  If  Mr.  Vernon's  trials  bear  at  all  on 
your  question,  Mr.  Foggyman,  they  would  seem  to  indicate  that 
he  was  not  mistaken  in  his  calling ;  but  was  rapidly  undergoing 
a  salutary  discipline,  fitted  to  the  nicer  uses  of  the  great  Mas 
ter-workman,  and  to  his  own  more  abundant  entrance  into  rest. 

We  hear  other  voices,  less  dispassionate,  —  two  or  three  in  a 
breath.  What  is  your  trouble,  friends  ? 

"  We  are  out  of  patience  with  your  minister.  He  is  weak, 
—  chicken-hearted ;  worse  than  this,  he  is  wicked.  What !  a 
minister  of  Christ  indulge  impatience  and  bitterness,  flounce 
under  opposition,  and  finally  lie  down  in  the  harness  !  He  is 
not  fit  to  be  an  ambassador  of  Christ.  He  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  his  want  of  endurance.  He  is  a  very  imperfect  man. 
Many  a  private  Christian  has  borne,  and  not  fainted,  in  worse 
trials  than  his.  After  all,  what  has  he  suffered,  to  make  such 
an  ado  about  ?  It  seems  to  us  he  has  not  sufficient  courage  as 


LIFE    IN   A    COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  235 

a  man,  or  grace  as  a  Christian,  for  so  holy  a  work  as  the 
preaching  of  the  Gospel." 

You  are  rather  severe,  good  friends ;  yet  Mr.  Vernon  doubt 
less  agrees  \vith  you.  He  is  very  low,  just  now,  in  his  own 
estimation,  as  well  as  in  yours.  But  your  views  do  not  quite 
accord  with  ours.  Perhaps  we  see  things  from  different  stand 
points.  Must  God's  ambassadors  be  perfect  ?  Then  why  not 
commit  the  Gospel  to  angels  ?  If  He  choose  to  commit  the 
treasure  to  earthen  vessels,  —  mind,  not  gold  or  silver,  but 
earthen,  —  what*  marvel  that  they  crack  over  the  furnace? 
Are  they,  therefore,  to  be  despised  and  discarded  ?  After  all, 
in  whose  hands  will  the  Gospel  do  sinning  men  the  most  good, 
and  be  best  exemplified,  —  in  a  holy  angel's,  or  a  fellow-sin 
ner's  ?  Moreover,  you  make  too  light  of  our  minis'ter's  trials. 
Perhaps,  not  being  in  your  line,  they  are  such  as  you  cannot 
readily  appreciate.  You  do  not  see  them  from  his  point  of 
vision,  and  you  do  not  feel  them  —  at  all. 

You  intimate,  also,  that  he  has  not  improved  his  afflictions 
aright,  —  not  ripened  under  them  in  Christian  goodness,  S 
might  have  been  expected.  Wait  a  little  longer  for  the  result. 
The  choicest  fruit  of  the  earth  does  not  mellow  at  once  under  a 
fierce  July  sun.  There  must  be  time  for  every  valuable  process 
of  growth  and  culture.  Jonah's  gourd,  indeed,  sprung  up  in 
a  night ;  but  it  lasted  not  well.  Wait  awhile,  sirs,  and  you 
may  have  occasion  to  look  back,  and  acknowledge  that  the 
grace  of  God  is  best  magnified  in  just  such  messengers  as  he 
chooses,  to  proclaim  the  unsearchable  riches  of  Christ.  The 
excellency  of  the  power  is  thus  seen  to  be  of  God.  Understand 
us  not  to  excuse  any  man's  sin.  To  every  one  that  serves  in 
word  and  doctrine  we  would  say,  "  See  thst  ye  be  blameless 
and  harmless,  —  the  sons  of  God,  without  rebuke;  giving  no 
offence  in  anything,  that  the  ministry  be  not  blam<sd."  But  to 
you  we  say,  "  A  minister  is  but  a  man.  See  that  ye  bear  with 
his  infirmities." 


THE   SHADY   SIDE  J    OR, 

Another  hearer  is  anxious  to  speak.  What  wculdst  thou, 
man? 

•'  I  only  wish  to  say  that  it  appears  to  me  there  is  a  plain 
way  of  relief  for  your  minister,  and  for  all  others  who  meet 
with  like  trials.  Let  them  abandon  the  work,  and  go  about 
s  ):nething  else.  I  do  not  believe  God  requires  men  to  starve 
i  :i  ';he  ministry,  in  these  days.  If  I  were  in  Mr.  Vernon's 
place,  I  would  seek  some  employment  that  would  yield  a  fair 
remuneration.  I  would  go  into  the  field,  or  the  shop,  and 
work  where  my  services  would  be  requited." 

Ah,  friend  !  you  touch  a  delicate  point.  The  adversary  some- 
limes  tempts  the  Lord's  servants  in  this  way,  when  they  are  at 
th.cir  wit's  end,  and  the  iron  enters  into  their  soul.  As  Mr. 
Vernon  once  said,  "  I  work  as  hard  as  Moulton  or  Walter.  I 
had  as  much  capital  to  begin  with  as  they.  I  could  have  made 
money  as  well.  Now  that  I  have  relinquished  such  prospects, 
ancT  spent  ten  of  my  best  years  to  qualify  me  for  preaching, 
why  should  they  dole  out  to  me  of  their  abundance  a  mere  pit- 
ranee,  and  call  it  charity,  and  consider  me  as  a  pensioner  upon 
their  bounty  ?  "  and  his  lip  curled,  and  Satan  whispered,  "  You 
are  young  enough  yet  to  redeem  what  is  lost,  and  enter  the 
lists  with  the  strongest  in  the  race  for  riches  and  honor." 
Alas,  poor  heart !  it  must  break  for  this,  and  lie  in  sackcloth 
at  the  Saviour's  feet. 

Let  us  tell  you,  well-meaning  adviser,  you  know  not  of  what 
you  speak,  when  you  coolly  say,  "  If  a  man  is  ill-used  in  the 
ministry,  let  him  seek  another  occupation."  If  he  was  called 
of  God  to  this  work,  —  if  his  whole  heart  be  in  it,  —  he  will 
pursue  it  while  ability  lasts,  though  he  fall  a  martyr  to  his 
constancy.  In  all  his  straits,  there  lies  at  the  bottom  of  his 
heart  a  sentiment  as  old  as  the  ministry  itself.  "  Necessity  is 
laid  upon  me ;  yea,  woe  is  me  if  I  preach  not  the  Gospel ;  for 
the  love  of  Christ  constraineth  me ;  yea,  doubtless  I  count  all 
things  but  loss  for  the  excellency  of  the  knowledge  of  Chris* 
Jesus  my  Lord." 


LIFE   IN   A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  287 

One  more  voice  asks  to  be  heard. 

"  I  would  not  advise  a  minister  to  give  up  his  profession ;  but 
1  do  say  that  churches  who  abuse  a  pastor  as  Millville  church 
did,  ought  to  smart  for  it.  The  ministers  should  form  a  com 
bination,  and  refuse  to  labor  for  such  a  people,  till  they  learn 
better  views  and  better  manners.  I  would  like  to  see  it  tried." 

And  what,  in  the  mean  time,  would  become  of  the  cause  of 
Christ?  No,  inconsiderate  friend;  the  worse  the  community, 
the  more  urgent  the  need  of  the  leaven  of  the  Gospel ;  the  more 
worldly  and  self-serving  the  church,  the  greater  the  importance 
of  a  faithful,  unselfish  ministry  over  it  It  is  a  hard  rock  to 
hammer  upon,  and  it  breaks  many  an  implement ;  but  it  will 
come  gradually  into  shape,  here  a  little  and  there  a  little.  Your 
advice  is  contrary  to  the  genius  of  our  religion.  A  ministerial 
"  strike  "  has  been  recommended,  we  are  aware,  by  wiser  heads 
than  yours ;  but  the  Lord's  work  must  not  be  deserted  because 
his  stewards  defraud  the  laborers.  "  Avenge  not  yourselves,  but 
rather  give  place  unto  wrath  j  for  vengeance  is  mine,  I  will 
repay,  saith  the  Lord." 

And  now,  dear  hearers,  one  and  all,  will  you  hold  your 
prejudices  in  abeyance,  take  in  good  part  our  setting  aside  of 
your  opinions  and  allow  us  to  resume  our  narrative  ? 


238  THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OK, 


CHAITER  XXXI. 

"  0  !  sparkling  clear  thy  waters  glow, 

And  murmur  as  they  glide 
To  the  fair  trees  that  bend  below 

To  kiss  the  loving  tide  ; 
And  far  above  thy  mountains  stand, 
Like  watch-towers  placed  to  guard  a  land, 
Where  all  conspires  to  yield  delight, 
Where  pleasure  reigns  by  day  and  night." 

As  the  lover  of  inland  scenery  travels  from  west  to  east, 
through  one  of  our  fair  New  England  commonwealths,  let  him 
pause  upon  the  height  of  a  mountain-range  that  guards  the 
valley-town  of  Olney.  The  ascent  has  been  long  and  winding ; 
but,  coming  by  a  sudden  turn  to  the  well-defined  summit,  the 
sense  of  vision  absorbs  all  others,  and,  if  you  are  a  lover  of  na 
ture,  you  forget  at  once  the  weary  road  behind,  in  the  beautiful 
panorama  spread  before  you. 

Beneath,  at  an  almost  perpendicular  depth,  you  trace  the 
quiet  river,  whose  liquid  name,  on  Indian  lips,  glided  as  smoothly 
as  its  waters  flow,  —  placid  waters,  of  which  you  catch  many  a 
glimpse  between  the  marginal  willows,  here  and  there,  like  so 
many  little  lakes  reposing  in  the  valley.  Beyond  its  further 
bank  clusters  the  white  village ;  and,  far  up  and  down  the  long 
sweep  of  low-land,  isolated  farm-houses  lie  in  the  arms  of  the 
rich  meadows.  The  rich  purple  of  the  upturned  soil,  and  the 
green  of  grassy  fields,  make  a  mosaic  ground-work  for  the  land 
scape,  while,  away  to  the  northward  and  the  eastward,  hills  piled 
on  hills,  in  spiritual  blue,  frame  it  in. 

Descending  through  overhanging  woods,  —  grand  old  forest 
trees,  —  you  pace  slowly  up  the  wide-curved  street  of  our  little 
town,  resting  in  its  redundant  maple-shade.  The  church  looks 
out  upon  you,  fair  and  grave,  through  its  veil  of  leaves.  Be« 


LIFE   IN   A    COUNTRY   PAKSONAGE.  239 

hind  it  is  the  burial-ground,  —  omnipresent  witness  to  man's 
mortality,  —  whose  marbles,  here  as  elsewhere,  in  summer  *nd  in 
winter,  by  sunlight  and  by  starlight,  ever  tell  their  story  of  the 
grave ;  whose  flowers  blossom  in  their  well-remembered  time, 
even  as  our  tears  spring  anew  on  that  returning  day  which  first 
opened  the  fountain  of  grief  in  our  hearts.  But  the  traveller 
lingers  not  here.  On  either  side  the  broad  thoroughfare  stand 
the  abodes  of  thrift  and  comfort.  A  liUle  further  on,  in  a 
recess,  back  from  the  dust  of  the  highway,  rises  the  modest 
parsonage,  —  an  ordinary  building,  in  itself  devoid  of  orna 
ment.  Yet,  somehow,  the  passer-by  turns  to  give  it  a  second 
glance,  —  to  notice  how  abundantly  the  twining  vines  cover  its 
tiellised  entrances,  —  what  wealth  of  roses  cluster  beneath  its 
windows,  —  what  nice  commingling  of  fruit,  and  flower,  and 
shade,  adorns  the  spot.  A  stranger  cannot  but  think  that  it  is 
the  home  of  taste  and  domestic  peace 

At  the  rear  of  the  house  a  silver  streamlet  dashes  by  on  its 
sparkling  run  toward  the  waiting  river,  hasting  to  lose  itself  in 
the  calm,  strong  flow  of  the  larger  current;  even  as  the 
changing  fancies  and  restless  activities  of  youth  are  absorbed 
in  the  fuller  thought,  the  intenser  purpose,  the  collected  enthu 
siasm,  of  a  mature  soul-life.  Beyond  the  gay  brook  is  a 
little  knoll,  bearing  a  thick  growth  of  the  conical  pine,  —  that 
tree  which  speaks  to  the  wind  in  a  strangely  human  voicf ,  full 
of  companionship  to  the  understanding  ear. 

0 !  it  is  always  beautiful,  this  pleasant  retreat  from  the 
crowded  world,  —  this  shaded  village-home,  —  Nature's  favorite, 
nested  beneath  the  sentinelship  of  one  of  her  grand  old  moun 
tains.  That  mountain  is  the  crowning  charm  of  the  spot. 
Whether  its  forest-side  is  dressed  in  the  light  verdure  of  the  bud 
ding  year,  or  draped  in  the  thick  green  of  the  ripe  summer,  — 
glorious  in  the  many  hues  of  the  gorgeous  autumn,  or  silvered 
with  the  frozen  rain  of  winter  in  dazzling  brilliancy,  —  the  soul 
if  beauty  is  in  it  still. 

How  inexpressibly  dear  does  it  become  to  the  heart  of  him 


240  THE   SHADY   SIDE;     OR, 

who,  in  his  joy  and  sadness,  has  often  turned  to  its  silent  syrr. 
pathyfc  as,  in  the  clearness  of  the  early  light,  and  the  glory  of 
the  sun-setting,  in  the  soft  fervor  and  flitting  shadows  of  mid 
day,  in  the  leaden  cloud  hanging  upon  its  cliffs,  and  the  fantastic 
mist  wreathing  its  sides,  in  the  bow  which  beameth  upon  the 
shower,  far  below  its  summit,  he  feels  its  spirit  answering  back 
in  every  shade  unto  his  own ! 

Such  is  Olney  now ;  such  was  it  ten  years  ago,  with  a 
single  exception,  —  the  parsonage  was  not  then  built. 

When  the  invalid  returned  to  Mayfield,  after  a  six  weeks' 
absence  in  pursuit  of  health,  he  found  an  invitation  awaiting 
him  to  preach  in  the  vacant  parish  of  Olney.  Julia  Rogers, 
his  Salem  protege,  had  an  uncle  there,  and  so  the  invitation 
came  about.  Mr.  Rogers  had  written  his  brother  on  the  sub 
ject  ;  and  the  reply  was,  "  Mr.  Vernon  is  head  and  shoulders 
above  your  place,  but  there  is  no  foretelling  what  he  may  do. 
He  is  rather  eccentric,  and  just  now  disgusted  with  life  in  a 
manufacturing  village.  He  is  out  of  health,  too,  and  low-spir 
ited.  Perhaps  he  may  come  and  preach  a  few  Sabbaths  in  a 
quiet  place  like  Olney." 

As  Edward  Vernon  paused  on  the  mountain  eminence,  and, 
laying  the  rein  on  Pompey's  neck,  gazed  off  into  that  goodly 
amphitheatre,  its  beauty  and  quiet  came  like  balm  to  his  soul, 
breathing  of  "  home  "  and  "  rest."  When  he  passed  the  neat 
embowered  church,  and  saw  the  last  rays  of  sunlight  resting 
on  the  grave-yard,  he  felt  that  he  could  die,  and  be  buried 
there.  He  was  charmed  even  with  the  solitude  that  attended 
him  in  his  boarding-place,  and  felt  not  the  lack  of  attentiqns  as 
a  stranger  among  strange  people.  Attentions  !  he  had  a  surfeit 
of  them  at  his  entrance  to  Millville. 

There  could  not  well  be  a  more  striking  contrast  than  was 
here  presented  to  his  late  parish,  both  in  the  rural  beauty  of 
its  natural  scenery,  and  the  plain,  simple  manners  of  its  agri 
cultural  population. 

So  he  preached,  and  ere  long  the  people  sounded  him  on  thii 


LIFE   IN    A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  241 

subject  of  "  settlement."  To  their  surprise,  he  made  no  objec 
tions,  and  no  inquiries  after  terms.  A  formal  call  was  soon 
extended,  and,  after  a  single  exchange  of  letters  with  Mayfield, 
accepted.  The  minister  seemed  to  act  mechanically,  or,  rather 
to  resign  himself  passively  to  the  current  of  circumstances 
His  "hundred  and  one"  friends  were  greatly  amazed;  yot, 
after  all,  it  was  not  so  very  inexplicable. 

The  times  were  unsettled,  and  ministers  held  their  places  by 
a  precarious  tenure.  There  were  many  "  isms  "  abroad.  So 
ciety  \vas  rife  with  party  tests  and  watchwords.  The  ministry, 
too,  had  its  "  shibboleths,"  and  it  was  no  easy  thing  for  an  inde 
pendent  man  to  find  a  congenial  niche.  As  one  not  "  ower ' 
refined  D.  D.  remarked,  "  Many  pastors  were  holding  on,  with 
slippery  fingers,  to  the  tail  end  of  their  pulpit." 

"Anything  but  this,"  thought  Mr.  Vernon,  "  to  hold  a  place 
by  sufferance."  He  was  faint  under  the  noise,  and  strife,  and 
heat,  of  the  times.  He  wished  to  hide,  for  a  little  season,  till 
the  indignation  be  overpast.  He  was  small  in  his  own  eyes, 
not  seeking  for  himself  great  things.  It  seemed  a  wonder  of 
condescension  that  God  should  employ  him  anywhere  in  hifl 
vineyard.  Moreover,  he  felt  inadequate  to  any  great  effort. 
The  feeling  that  much  was  expected  of  him,  would  alone  be 
sufficient  to  crush  him.  He  was  worn  in  body,  mind,  and 
spirit.  Anything  for  rest,  —  a  sheltered  spot,  where  he  might 

"  See  the  stir 
Of  the  great  Babel,  and  not  feel  the  crowd." 

When  he  read  the  terms  of  settlement,  he  did  indeed  say  to 
the  Olney  committee  that  he  had  never  tried  living  on  so  small 
a  sum  as  five  hundred  dollars,  —  that  hs  did  not  think  it  would 
snable  him  to  bring  the  year  round.  But  they  replied,  it  was 
all  they  could  afford  to  give.  He  believed  their  word,  and 
consented  to  the  proposals,  feeling  that  he  had  something  to  fall 
back  upon,  if  his  expenditures  should  exceed  his  salary.  The 
21 


242  THE    SHADY    SIDE;     OB, 

expenses  of  living,  he  thought,  must  be  low  in  such  a  commu« 
nity. 

One  thing,  however,  he  did  insist  upon,  —  the  building  of  a 
parsonage.  His  prudecessor,  Mr.  Rice,  had  moved  three  times 
during  a  ministry  of  five  years,  and  finally  left  for  want  of  a 
suitable  dwelling-house. 

The  people  scowled  somewhat  at  his  request,  and  hoped  he 
would  bring  his  family,  and  commence  house-keeping  in  a  corner 
of  the  capacious  building,  known  formerly  as  the  brick  hotel, 
but  latterly  called  "  the  old  castle."  This  he  positively  de 
clined  ;  and,  as  there  was  no  other  alternative,  measures  were 
taken  to  build  a  house,  and  the  installation  postponed.  The 
business  was  committed  to  three  trustees,  who  hired  a  carpenter 
to  do  it  by  the  job.  These  men  had  their  own  private  interests 
to  look  after,  and  could  give  only  a  general  supervision  to  the 
undertaking.  The  pastor  elect  kept  his  eye  upon  it,  and 
secured  attention  to  many  little  things  that  would  have  been 
otherwise  neglected.  Yet,  his  interference  was  considered 
rather  troublesome,  and  any  great  improvement  in  plan  or  exe 
cution  he  was  not  able  to  effect. 

To  those  familiar  with  the  prevalent  mode  of  parish  building 
for  the  minister,  description  here  is  not  needed.  When  the 
frame  was  up,  it  looked  too  slender  to  stand  against  a  "  reg'lar 
nor'easter."  The  clapboards  were  added  without  lining ;  and 
when  Mr.  Vernon  remonstrated  with  one  of  the  trustees,  the 
truth-telling  farmer  replied,  "  I  s'pose,  if  one  of  us  were  build 
ing  it  for  ourselves,  we  should  have  it  lined ;  but  it 's  a  par- 
tonage,  you  know,  and  we  must  get  it  up  at  the  least  expense." 

"  There  is  a  fine  place  for  a  basement-kitchen,"  said  Mr.  Ver 
non  to  another  trustee. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Tuthill ;  "  if  it  were  for  myself  I  would 
\iave  one  by  all  means." 

Ah !  it  is  only  a  parsonage ;  arid  what  does  a  minister's 
family  want  of  a  room  in  the  basement  ?  The  Kitchen  is  nine 
feet  by  twelve,  with  a  small  fire-place,  and  a  narrow  oven,  and 


LWE   IN    A    COUNTRY   PARtttNAGE.  243 

a  little  pantry.  It 's  only  a  parsonage !  Half  the  timber  is 
ill-seasoned,  —  the  fixtures  are  of  the  cheapest  kind,  —  the 
second  coat  of  paint  kid  on  before  the  first  is  dry,  —  the  plas 
ter  coarse  and  incohesive,  —  the  floors  constructed  as  if  for  ven 
tilation,  and  of  planks  differing  in  thickness,  presenting  a  varied 
surface  of  hill  and  dale,  —  the  windows  without  blinds,  loose 
and  shaking  hi  every  breeze,  as  if  with  the  ague.  It  wae.  only 
a  parsonage!  Then,  the  exterior  was  finished  without  orna 
ment  of  pillar,  cornice,  or  moulding,  —  much  more  discarding 
such  luxurious  appendages  as  a  corridor,  veranda,  or  portico. 
They  would  add  to  the  expense,  and  might  foment  pride  within 
the  parsonage,  and  jealousies  without. 

"  Do  tell  us,"  says  some  fair  reader,  "  what  kind  of  people 
these  were  in  Olney." 

"  0  !  "  says  another,  "  excuse  us  from  any  more  familiar  in 
troductions  to  the  '  all  sorts  of  people '  that  a  minister  must  be 
acquainted  with.  Our  memory  is  burdened  already."  Well, 
you  shall  be  spared  the  infliction.  Human  nature,  we  allow, 
is  the  same  the  world  over ;  yet,  there  are  some  phases  of  it 
in  Olney  which,  nicthinks,  we  have  not  met  elsewhere  since  wo 
'gan  travel  together.  However,  you  shall  not  be  bored  with 
any  more  full-length  portraits,  framed  and  labelled.  You  may 
have  the  materials,  and  draw  them  for  yourself.  To  avoid  con 
fusion,  we  may  give  a  name  here  and  there,  as  it  is  inther 
more  convenient,  than  to  say,  "  Mr.  So-and-So,"  or  "  a  certain 
woman." 

To  return  from  this  awkward  episode  to  the  question  of  our 
fair  reader.  We  intend  you  shall  learn  what  kinds  of  charac 
ter  make  up  the  parish  of  Olney,  as  their  minister  did,  from 
the  intercourse  of  years,  when  the  history  of  that  intercourse 
shall  be  laid  before  you.  As  a  clue  to  correct  results,  we  will 
^ive  you  some  hints  that  may  be  of  service. 

The  parish  consisted  of  a  hundred  families,  among  whom 
there  was  no  such  thing  as  caste,  although  there  was  some 
diversity  of  intellectual  and  social  culture.  They  were  a  sens- 


244  THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OR, 

ible,  thrifty,  frugal  people,  —  accumulating  property  by  small 
gains,  of  which  they  were  very  tenacious.  They  were  under 
the  shadow  of  a  large  town  a  few  miles  southward,  which 
opened  a  market  for  their  produce.  The  habit  of  running 
thither,  with  a  brace  of  fowls,  or  a  dozen  eggs,  or  a  bushel  of 
early  apples  and  potatoes,  made  them  unconsciously  parsimoni 
ous  and  contracted  respecting  many  things  in  which  the  far 
mers  of  the  larger  inland  towns  are  free  as  the  milch  kine  of 
their  meadows.  There  was,  moreover,  in  this  little  community, 
an  intense  individualism.  With  few  exceptions,  everybody  lived 
for  himself,  and  took  care  of  number  one. 

Again  ;  there  was  no  person,  of  superior  wisdom  and  repu 
tation,  looked  up  to  as  guide  and  leader.  Deacon  Hyde  was  a 
man  who  thought  and  read  more  than  many  of  the  people ;  but 
he  held  his  opinions  rigidly,  and  was  not  generally  popular,  — 
besides  seeking  his  own  interest  too  exclusively  for  a  public 
servant.  Deacon  \Vhite  was  a  well-meaning,  self-complacent 
man,  who  carried  his  sentiments,  like  his  money,  in  a  deep, 
out-of-the-way  place,  so  that  it  took  an  age  to  fish  either  of 
them  up.  Esquire  Eaton,  the  richest  church  member,  took  some 
lead  in  political  matters ;  but,  in  the  department  of  religion 
and  morals,  he  was  careful  not  to  step  out  of  the  line,  unless  iu 
the  rear.  Captain  Brown,  whose  heart  was  always  in  the  right 
place,  was  too  little  cultivated,  and  too  easy,  to  take  the  helm  ; 
while,  of  a  minister's  leadership,  there  was,  throughout  the 
parish,  a  pervading  jealousy. 

In  regard  to  preaching,  they  were  not  a  very  discriminating 
people.  If  a  man  was  sound  in  doctrine,  fluent  in  speech, 
pleasant  in  address,  he  was,  in  their  estimation,  "  a  smart 
preacher."  Their  estimate  of  Mr.  Vernon's  talents  was 
derived  mire  from  his  reputation  abroad,  than  from  their  own 
judgment  of  his  performances.  Hence,  though  many  said,  at 
first,  "We  cannot  hope  to  settle  a  man  of  such  gifts;"  yet, 
from  the  moment  he  consented  to  stay,  he  depreciated  in  their 
eyes.  "  He  cannet,  after  all,  be  anything  groat,  or  he  would 


IJJE   IN   A  COUNTRY   PAKSONAGE.  245 

not  stay  in  Olney."  Millville  people  magnified  and  exalted 
him  because  he  was  their  minister.  Olney,  lacking  in  self- 
respect,  for  the  same  reason  held  him  in  less  repute. 

"  Human  natur  i*  cur'ous." 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

"  The  parsonage 

might  well  be  made 

A  comfortable  mansion." 

THAT  first  winter  in  the  new  parsonage,  was  one  of  many  dis 
comforts.  It  was  a  new  beginning  at  house-keeping,  —  always 
a  time  of  unusual  cares.  The  girl,  Mabel,  was  Mrs.  Vernon's 
only  help,  and,  though  invaluable  in  the  nursery,  was  yet  to  be 
trained  in  the  kitchen.  The  children  suffered  much  from  fre 
quent  colds.  The  house  was  damp,  and  bare  of  such  conven 
iences  as  accumulate  with  the  occupancy  of  a  dwelling.  The 
builder's  work,  too,  was  left  very  incomplete.  He  found  he 
had  been  screwed  too  close  in  the  contract,  and  so  revenged 
himself  on  the  house.  To  supply  the  deficiency,  took  all  Mr, 
Vernon's  odd  moments,  and  many  a  pound  of  nails,  and  more 
pine  stuff  than  the  refuse  afforded.  The  fences  were  still 
unbuilt ;  and,  when  the  spring  opened,  the  garden  patch  was 
not  only  uninclosed,  it  was  an  unbroken  turf;  while,  on  all 
the  place,  there  was,  as  Trinculo  said  of  his  desert  island, 
'  neither  bush,  nor  shrub,  to  bear  off  any  weather  at  all." 

For  this  naked  half-acre,  with  a  house  and  barn,  the  peoplo 
charged  the  annual  rent  of  seventy-five  dollars,  nearly  six  per 
cent,  on  the  cost.  The  minister  did  not  conceal  his  surprise  at 
this  disproportion  between  the  house-rent  and  salary  but  there 
was  no  appeal  from  the  decision. 

At  New- Year's,  the  annual  sale  of  pews  occurred.  Captain 
21* 


246  THE   SHADY    SIDE  J    OR, 

Brown  accosted  Mr.  Vernon  with  the  air  of  one  conferring  a 
favor,  and  bade  him  welcome,  with  his  family,  to  the  "  minis 
ter's  pew  ;"  adding,  "  I  suppose,  if  I  should  come  in  when  my 
own  slip  is  crowded,  Mrs.  Vernon  will  not  turn  me  out  ? " 
The  new  pastor  did  not  understand.  He  turned  to  Deacon 
Hyde  for  explanation  ;  and  was  told,  with  some  embarrass 
ment,  that  the  minister  here  had  always  been  in  the  habit  of 
paying  for  his  pew  in  church ;  that  Captain  Brown  had  just 
bid  it  off,  for  seven  dollars,  as  a  present  to  Mr.  Vernon.  Mr. 
Vernon's  spirit  rose  against  this  exaction.  He  had  not  lost  all 
the  old  fire.  He  told  the  deacon  he  would  resign  the  pulpit, 
before  he  would  pay  a  tax  of  this  kind  toward  his  own  support. 
There  was  no  Deacon  Ely  in  the  parish,  to  cry  shame  on  such 
an  illiberal  policy.  Indeed,  the  present  incumbents  of  the 
deaconship  had  no  proper  conception  of  the  nature  of  their 
office. 

To  attend  upon  the  sacramental  table ;  to  keep  the  alms  of 
the  church ;  to  read  a  sermon  in  the  minister's  absence ;  to 
examine  candidates  for  church- membership  ;  to  pray  at  the 
stated  social  meeting;  —  this  seemed  the  amount  of  their  official 
obligations.  It  appeared  not  to  enter  their  thoughts  that  the 
office  had  its  origin  in  the  commendable  purpose  to  relieve  the 
pastor  from  solicitude  and  labor,  respecting  secular  and  collat 
eral  objects,  that  he  might  give  himself  with  more  freedom  to 
the  ministry  of  the  word. 

To  watch  against  annoyances  in  his  pathway  ;  to  shield  him 
from  burdens  not  properly  his  own  ;  to  stand  between  him  and 
the  pecuniary  requisitions  which,  thrown  back  by  many  a 
defaulter,  must  rest  somewhere,  and  are  so  apt  to  fall  on  the 
minister ;  to  make  all  the  surroundings  of  his  professional  work 
as  comfortable  and  pleasant  as  possible ;  to  help  him  in  his 
attendance  upon  the  sick  and  suffering ;  to  proffer  aid  and  sym 
pathy  in  peculiar  and  trying  services;  —  the  Olney  deacons  had 
never  opened  their  eyes  on  this  part  of  their  official  work  ;  tho 
department  which,  more  than  any  other,  required  from  the  first, 


,  LIFE   IN    A  COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  247 

"  men  of  wisdom  and  good  repute.  For  all  they  will  do,  tho 
pastor  may  be  a  hewer-of-wood  and  drawer-of-water  for  the 
congregation,  —  make  the  fires  and  keep  the  doors  of  the  sanc 
tuary,  —  and  provide,  not  only  the  beaten  oil  for  the  pulpit,  but 
the  sperm  oil  for  the  evening  lamps. 

Late  in  the  spring,  Mr.  Vernon  presented  the  subject  of 
home  missions,  and  informed  the  congregation  that  a  collection 
would  be  taken  up  the  ensuing  week.  After  church,  he  con 
ferred  with  the  deacons  about  collectors.  They  suggested  one 
and  another,  who  "  ought "  to  accept  the  service.  The  next 
day  the  pastor  renewed  the  search,  but  in  vain.  After  spend 
ing  several  hours  in  this  way,  he  called  upon  Deacon  Hyde, 
saying,  "  Unless  you  can  go,  I  believe  I  must  turn  collector 
myself."  The  reply  was,  "  I  cannot  see  to  it.  I  must  finish 
my  garden  this  week."  "  Mine,"  said  Mr.  Vernon,  "  is  un 
touched."  "  It 's  a  busy  season,"  said  the  other  deacon  ;  if  any 
one  is  at  leisure,  it  would  n't  be  much  to  go  over  this  district.'' 
And  so  they  let  the  minister  collect  the  charities  of  the  church 
from  door  to  door ;  nor  was  it  the  last  time  that  they  aban 
doned  him,  in  a  similar  strait,  to  make  provision  for  a  like  ser 
vice.  The  next  week  Mrs.  Vernon  was  in  the  garden,  dropping 
a  few  flower-seeds,  when  Deacon  Hyde  leaned  over  the  fence 
and  asked  if  she  had  taken  the  garden  in  hand.  She  replied,  it 
was  time  something  was  done ;  and  he  rejoined,  with  a  satisfied 
air,  "  My  garden  is  planted." 

Mrs.  Vernon  found  the  people  unaccountably  shy  of  hei 
All  her  philosophy  could  never  explain  the  matter.  It  seemed 
as  if  it  were  the  general  impression  that  a  minister's  family 
was  a  foreign  and  dangerous  element  in  the  community,  —  an 
object  of  suspicion  and  watchfulness.  She  dispensed  with  eti 
quette,  and  sought  acquaintance  with  the  people  at  their  own 
homes ;  but  she  felt,  with  pain,  that  they  did  not  meet  her  with 
open  couQ'lcnce.  Mrs.  Plympton,  when  asked  to  call  more 
frequently,  said  "she  had  little  time.  Ladies,  who  k«pt  a 
hired  girl,  might  be  able  to  run  about  and  make  calls;  but  wo 


248  THE   SHADY   SIDE;    OB,  , 

plain  folks,  that  do  our  own  work,  find  enough  to  keep  us  at 
home."  Many  a  housewife  in  Olney  had  a  grown-up  daughter, 
or  maiden  sister,  or  widowed  aunt,  with  whom  to  divide  the 
labor  of  the  house ;  but  this  was  quite  another  affair  from 
"  hired  help." 

Mary  was  fond  of  quiet,  and  had  too  many  cares,  to  pine 
over  her  loneliness ;  yet  she  felt,  at  times,  the  want  of  social 
intercourse.  For  weeks  together,  no  female  friend  looked  in  at 
the  parsonage.  The  change  was  striking  after  a  residence  in 
Millville.  She  would  sometimes  say,  playfully,  to  Edward, 
"  I  think  I  could  endure  Aunt  Hannah  now,  with  all  her  clear 
starching  and  gossip ;"  or,  "  Even  a  call  from  sister  Harris, 
would  be  tolerable,  though  she  should  come  with  a  petition  for 
a  double  sermon  on  chastity,  and  five  sheets  of  statistics  in 
reference  to  a  charity  school  in  Abyssinia." 

It  is  a  busy  year,  both  with  the  pastor  and  his  wife.  A  wise 
economy  is  practised ;  yet,  though  the  semi-annual  payment  of 
the  salary  is  made  promptly,  and  in  cash,  it  requires  little  fore 
sight  to  tell  how  matters  will  stand  at  the  year's  end.  The 
price  of  living  has  been  higher  than  Mr.  Vernon  anticipated. 
He  must  give  for  produce  all  it  will  bring  in  town.  He  bought 
one  ton  of  hay  of  a  man  who  lived  on  the  borders  of  the  parish, 
out  of  his  society,  and  gave  eleven  dollars.  Esquire  Eaton 
asked  him  why  he  did  not  purchase  of  his  own  people.  He 
had  hay  (not  quite  as  good)  which  he  would  sell  the  minister 
at  twelve  dollars. 

Incvifintal  expenses,  too,  were  larger  than  he  expected. 
There  was  more  transient  company  than  at  Millville.  Trav 
elling  ministers  and  agents  made  frequent  calls  on  his  hospi 
tality,  which  was  always  tendered  without  grudging.  Mrs. 
Eaton,  who  lived  opposite,  and  noted  the  many  calls,  said  to 
Mrs.  Vernon,  "  You  keep  the  ministers  too  well,  —  I  know  you 
do,  —  or  they  would  not  come  so  often."  Mrs.'  Plympton,  on 
the  other  sido,  was  greatly  concerned  about  the  large  washings 
hung  out  from  the  parsonage,  and  tried  to  sympathize  with 


LIFE   IN    A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  249 

Mabel ;  but  the  girl  was  too  affectionately  and  gratefully 
devoted  to  her  employers,  to  be  made  uneasy  or  untrue.  So 
she  reported  the  thing  to  Mrs.  Vernon,  with  the  comment,  "  If 
she  thinks  the  washing  too  large,  she  might  once  in  a  while 
take  an  agent,  and  make  the  line  of  sheets  and  pillow-cases 
shorter." 

The  cause  of  temperance  needed  a  vigorous  impulse.  The 
people  wished  to  hear  some  popular  reformed  inebriates.  They 
were  highly  entertained  ;  but  the  lecturer,  of  course,  must  be 
taken  care  of  at  the  parsonage.  If  the  minister  asked  how  the 
man  was  to  be  paid,  he  was  told,  by  subscription  ;  —  "  they 
would  attend  to  it,  and  hand  in  the  money  in  the  morning." 
Waiting  till  the  last  minute,  he  would  give  the  lecturer  a  three 
or  a  five,  or  a  larger  bill,  from  his  own  purse.  By-and-by 
there  would  come  in  half  or  two  thirds  the  sum,  in  shilling  con 
tributions,  from  a  few  of  the  nearest  temperance  men.  When 
he  spoke  of  the  deficit  to  the  deacons,  they  were  very  sorry,  but 
they  had  done  their  part.  And  after  a  while,  he  took  the  cool 
advice  they  gave  him,  and  learned  "  to  be  careful."  Yet,  what 
pastor  does  not  feel  for  the  reputation  of  his  people,  and  will 
not  sometimes  empty  his  purse  of  its  last  shilling,  rather  than 
have  their  meanness  reported  abroad  ?  Mr.  Briggs  was  presi 
dent  of  the  temperance  organization  ;  a  man  too  prominent  to  be 
overlooked.  His  buildings  made  as  imposing  an  array  as  any 
in  the  village.  His  dwelling-house  and  grocery  were  near  the 
green,  and  his  fine  grist-mill  a  few  rods  back,  on  the  same  tur 
bulent  stream  that,  a  little  higher  up,  dashed  by  the  parsonage 
Mr.  Briggs  was  pronounced  "  a  good  liver,"  and  "  well  to  do  in 
the  world  ;"  but,  for  some  reason,  he  was  far  from  being  liberal 
in  his  intercourse  with  the  minister.  On  one  occasion,  he  offered 
to  take  the  temperance  agent  for  the  night,  but  left  his  horse 
to  be  cared  for  at  the  parsonage. 

In  the  evening,  Master  Edward  was  sent  to  the  mill  for  a 
half  bushel  of  oats,  which  the  gentleman  had  requested  for  his 
steed,  and  returned,  saying,  "  Mr.  Briggs  took  thirty  cents  foi 


250  THE    SHADY   SIDE;    OR, 

them,  uncle,  though  he  knew  they  were  for  the  lecturer's  horse.' 
Was  this  avarice,  or  thoughtlessness  ?  The  minister  could  not 
determine. 

The  annual  payment,  from  Salem,  came  in  due  season.  Mary 
said  to  herself,  "  Six  months  more,  and  we  shall  be  able  to 
redeem  the  piano."  And  her  heart  bounded  at  the  thought 
of  the  old  familiar  music.  But  the  year  ended,  and  there  was 
not  a  dollar  left. 

"  I  would  tell  them,  frankly,  Edward,  that  we  cannot  live  on 
five  hundred  dollars." 

"  Not  quite  yet,  my  dear,"  was  the  reply ;  "  let  us  try  it 
another  year." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

"  Secret  griefs  and  silent  joys  ;  thorns  in  the  flesh,  and  cordials  for  the 
spirit." 

AFTER  a  lapse  of  three  years  and  a  half,  let  us  look  again 
tuto  that  quiet  valley,  and  see  if  we  recognize  the  parsonage, 
It  is  still  in  the  old  place,  and  it  is  the  same  plain  building  as 
ever ;  but  its  surroundings  give  it  a  totally  different  aspect. 
That  luxuriant  growth  of  trees  !  one  can  hardly  believe  it  the 
work  of  scarce  five  years.  But,  then,  they  were  not  very  small 
when  transplanted  hither ;  they  were  selected  and  nurtured 
with  care ;  they  have  sped  their  growth,  as  if  in  sympathy 
with  the  brief,  swiftly-run  race  of  him  who  tends  them.  The 
honeysuckle,  brought  from  Mayfield,  covers  the  green  lattice  at 
the  front  entrance.  The  grape-vine,  at  the  other  door,  has  out 
grown  its  white  trellis,  and  spread  itself  on  the  kitchen  roof. 
The  sweet-briar  has  climbed  to  the  chamber  windows,  and  a 
yard  of  TDSCS,  in  numberless  variety,  perfumes  all  the  summer 
air.  The  stubborn  garden  has  been  subdued,  and  though  it 
can  spare  little  room  for  the  beautiful,  that  is  well  improved. 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  251 

Witness  the  tasteful  arbor,  and  the  flower-bordered  walks. 
Many  u  parishioner,  who  would  have  looked  enviously  at  thesa 
adornings,  had  the  minister  owned  the  place,  smiled  compla 
cently,  as  he  saw  the  property  of  the  parish  rising  in  value, 
without  cost  to  the  society. 

But  let  us  look  within  the  doors,  and  see  what  changes  timo 
hath  wrought  there.  In  that  pleasant  back  room,  whose  wio 
dows  command  the  wide  mountain  range,  and  which  is  dining- 
room,  sitting-room,  school-room,  and  nursery,  we  find  the  same 
presiding  spirit,  —  the  patient,  cheerful,  efficient  wife  and 
u.other,  still  young  and  gentle,  and  scarce  more  matronly  than 
when  W3  saw  her  last,  though  to  her  maternal  charge  has  been 
added  the  gift  of  two  sweet  babes. 

Rose  is  a  little  gypsy,  of  three  years,  with  dark  eyes  and 
curling  hair,  —  her  mother  in  miniature.  The  baby,  of  six 
months,  in  the  cradle,  whose  little  head  begins  to  look  golden  in 
the  sunlight,  is  the  dear  remembrancer  of  buried  treasures. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  the  kind  Mrs.  Rogers,  "  you  will  name 
her  for  the  child  you  lost  ?  " 

"  0,  no  !  "  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  calmly ;  "  we  cannot  have  two 
of  the  same  name  in  the  family.  My  angel-child  is  not  lost  to 
me.  The  children,  too,  feel  that  they  have  a  sister  Abby, 
though  she  has  gone  to  a  happier  home  than  theirs." 

But  there  was  a  name,  precious  for  her  sake  who  bore  it, — 
;.ssociated,  too,  with  the  memory  of  her  first-born ;  and  when 
v.ns  tiny  babe  opened  a  pair  of  large,  blue  eyes,  in  the  samo 
languid  way  as  those  she  so  well  remembered,  she  overlooked 
Mr.  Wood's  estrangement,  and  called  it  Carrie. 

Allison  is  now  a  fine,  studious  boy  of  seven,  and  cousin 
Edward  is  a  tall,  manly  lad  of  fourteen.  But  where  is  Nelly, 
the  restless,  active,  inquisitive  Miliville  baby  ?  She  must  be 
now  a  girl  of  five  years.  Yes ;  but  she  has,  for  the  present, 
another  home.  Her  city  aunt  has  married  again,  —  married  a 
rich,  miserly  man,  without  children ;  and  she  has  offered  to 
*dopt  her  namesake.  And  could  these  parents,  with  their 


252  THE   SHADY    SIDE  ;     OR, 

views  of  parental  responsibility,  and  their  tender' sensibilities, 
give  away  the  child  ?  No,  indeed,  —  especially  to  such  a  guar 
dian  ;  and  such  a  child  as  Ellen,  sensitive  and  impetuous,  need 
ing  peculiar  wisdom  in  her  discipline  and  training.  Yet,  in 
the  circumstances,  they  let  her  go  for  a  few  weeks.  The  chil 
dren  all  had  the  whooping-cough*  The  mother's  cares,  present 
and  prospective,  urged  the  acceptance  of  any  relief.  Dr.  Reed 
recommended  a  change  of  air  for  the  child,  whose  lungs  were 
enfeebled.  So,  with  many  fears,  and  much  weeping  in  secret 
places,  and  such  prayers  as  only  a  mother  can  offer,  Mary 
parted  with  the  child,  as  she  hoped,  for  a  brief  season.  It  was 
now  a  year,  and  the  way  was  not  open  for  its  return. 

Mabel  Ellis,  with  her  large,  open  face,  is  still  the  faithful 
domestic,  —  able,  now,  to  take  the  daily  routine  of  a  house-keep 
er's  duties.  Yet  even  this  bright  spot  has  a  hovering  shadow. 
Mabel  has  an  indolent,  wicked  father,  who  would  make  his 
child's  labor  available  to  his  self-indulgence.  More  than  two 
years  ago  he  came  to  see  if  she  could  help  him,  and  peremp 
torily  forbade  her  staying  at  the  parsonage  without  wages.  To 
retain  her,  her  kind  benefactors,  who  had  sheltered  and  clothed 
and  schooled  her,  when  she  was  of  little  use,  were  now  obliged 
to  pay  her  a  dollar  a  week  for  her  services.  Her  father,  too, 
was  ever  and  anon  sending  for  her  wages,  and  threatening  to 
place  her  in  a  factory.  The  girl  bore  herself  nobly  in  these 
trials.  She  wept  at  receiving  wages  from  those  who  had  sup 
plied  to  her  the  place  of  parents,  and  whose  dwelling  was  th« 
only  happy  home  she  had  ever  known.  Poor  child !  she,  too, 
had  been  matured  in  the  furnace.  She  promised  Mrs.  Vernori 
that  she  would  not  leave  her  while  she  could  possibly  avoid  it ; 
and  for  this  end  she  stinted  her  wardrobe,  that  her  unnatural 
parent  might  be  satisfied  with  the  sums  saved  from  her  wages, 
and  let  her  remain.  Such  fruit  of  her  careful  nurture  was,  to. 
Mary,  a  source  of  rich  joy. 

And  how  goes  -ife  with  the  dominie  himself,  through  these 
passing  years  ?  He  is  gradually  "regaining  his  health,  and  slowly 


LIFE   IN    A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  253 

recoveiing  his  mental  elasticity  and  vigor.  He  has  not  written 
many  sermons,  but  he  has  gathered  materials  for  future  useful 
ness  and  a.  tivity.  He  is  a  better  mon.  than  he  was.  The 
fruit  of  chastisement  has  at  length  ripened.  Those  deep  furrows 
of  his  soul,  through  which  the  ploughshare  tore,  and  the  fire 
burned,  irrigated  by  copious  tears,  under  the  blessed  sunlight  of 
Heaven,  are  covered  with  springing  verdure,  and  gemmed  with 
lowly  flowers. 

Success  has  early  crowned  his  labors.  Many  precious  youth, 
and  a  few  souls  in  maturer  years,  have  embraced  the  offers  of 
mercy,  and  been  gathered  into  the  Saviour's  fold.  He  has 
evidently  gained  a  strong  hold  of  the  community.  Those  who 
turn  away  from  his  message  respect  and  honor&m  as  a  man 
and  a  Christian.  His  example  and  intercourse,  out  of  the  pul 
pit,  have  done  much  for  the  Gospel,  in  their  influence  on 
worldly  minds.  Were  Deacon  Slocum  here,  he  would  doubt 
less  reiterate  his  judgment,  "  Woe  unto  you  when  all  men 
speak  well  of  you !  " 

The  philosophy  of  the  thing  is  very  obvious.  Religious  men 
in  Olney,  with  few  exceptions,  were  sharp,  close,  selfish  men 
in  their  business  transactions.  They  were  particularly  tenacious 
of  their  secular  rights,  pursuing  a  lawful  claim  to  the  uttermost 
iarthing.  They  were,  apparently,  as  eager  to  get  and  to  save 
as  the  most  acknowledged  worldlings  around  them.  In  their 
charities,  too,  —  though  their  motives  were  not  to  be  impeached, 
—  though  they  gave  from  principle  and  conscience,  —  their 
standard  of  liberality  was  so  low  as  to  be  often  overreached  by 
some  who  professed  not  to  be  governed  by  the  great  law  of 
benevolence.  Then,  again,  -here  was,  among  Christian  people, 
BO  little  pains-taking  and  self-denial,  to  promote  the  welfare  of 
others  and  the  public  good,  that  religion  missed  one  of  its  best 
letters  of  commendation  to  the  conscience  of  unbelievers. 
What  marvel  that  in  such  a  community  a  minister  of  good  pul 
pit  talent?,  who  was  liberal-minded,  warm-hearted,  open-handed, 
self-sacrificing,  and  courteous, — in  short,  a  Christian  gentle. 
22 


254  THE   SHADY   SIDE;     OR, 

man,  —  should  win  favor  for  himself  and  his  office,  in  tte  eyes 
of  intelligent,  moral  men  of  the  world  ? 

But  thus  much  wasunot  gained  without  loss  in  another  direc 
tion.  Mr.  Vernon  had  not  been  in  Olney  a  twelvemonth, 
when  he  found  out  the  besetting  sin  of  his  prominent  religious 
men.  Nor  did  another  twelvemonth  pass  ere  he  made  the  dis 
covery  that  they  were  a  people  of  more  ample  pecuniary 
resources  than  he  had  supposed.  While  he  was  yearly  expend 
ing  a  hundred  dollars  of  his  former  savings,  to  eke  out  his  liv 
ing,  it  did  not  add  to  his  equanimity  to  learn  that  the  people 
were  abundantly  able  to  place  him  above  solicitude,  in  regard 
to  temporal  things,  —  that  scarcely  a  farmer  in  his  parish  but 
had  monej^t  interest,  snugly  invested,  and  yearly  increasing, 
—  that,  above  all,  the  society  had  an  ample  fund,  provided  by 
their  fathers,  which  paid  two  thirds  of  the  salary. 

Stimulated  by  these  facts,  he  brought  the  Gospel  to  bear  on 
the  reigning  selfishness  of  the  community,  urging,  especially  on 
the  church,  the  duty  of  a  larger  liberality,  and  a  more  unselfish 
devotion  to  the  Redeemer's  cause.  He  was  earnest,  and  san 
guine  of  success,  —  expecting,  by  the  divine  blessing,  to  bring 
about  a  speedy  change.  After  those  revival  scenes,  in  which 
the  brethren,  borne  along  by  his  ardor,  went  beyond  themselves, 
and  worked  with  some  efficiency  by  his  side,  he  said  to  Mary, 
"  What  a  pity,  that  so  good  a  man  as  Deacon  Hyde  should 
be  so  penurious !  He  might  have  twice,  yes,  thrice,  the  power, 
in  this  community,  if  he  were  only  a  generous,  liberal  soul.  I 
believe  I  can  make  him  see  it,  and  bring  him  up  to  a  higher 
standard.  I  am  sure  the  inconsistency  only  needs  to  be  set 
before  him,  as  /see  it,  to  make  him  ashamed  of  himself." 

Ah,  joung  minister!  sooner  than  be  ashamed  of  himself,  he 
will  be  offended  with  thee.  Thou  dost  forget  the  power  of  long 
habit,  cf  a  life's  growth.  Go,  and  take  the  twist  out  of  the 
gnarled  oak !  Hadst  thou  begun  twenty  years  ago,  thou  mightst 
have  moulded  these  disciples  after  thine  own  enlarged  views ; 
but  now,  when  that  head  begins  to  be  silvered  with  age,  thou 


LIFE   IN    A  COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  255 

naayst  modify,  but  thou  canst  not  revolutionize,  the  inner  man. 
"  Set  the  matter  before  him  !  "  He  will  see  things  through  his 
own  glasses,  till  he  reaches  a  world  of  perfect  vision. 

But  Mr.  Vernon  meant  to  discharge  his  duty,  and  he  made 
this  theme  a  prominent  one  in  dividing  the  word.  He  only 
sowed  the  seeds  of  future  harvests,  to  be  reaped  by  others,  after 
he  had  gone  to  his  reward. 

The  result  was  what  might  have  been  anticipated  from  human 
infirmity.  Deacon  Hyde  inwardly  chafed  under  the  close 
application  of  such  Gospel  truth.  He  resolved  to  know  the 
minister's  opinion  of  him ;  and  so  he  asked  him  plainly,  and  was 
candidly  answered.  He  felt  unappreciated,  and  thought  he  was 
harshly  judged.  He  was  a  man  that  brooded  over  wrongs,  real 
or  fancied.  He  liked  many  things  in  the  minister,  but  this  one 
bitter  pill  made  the  whole  distasteful.  He  thought  he  was  wil 
ling  to  do  his  part;  and  was  always  alleging  this.  He  was  told 
this  was  not  enough  ;  he  must  not  measure  himself  by  others ; 
that  Bible  liberality  supplied  others'  lack  of  service  by  more 
abundant  sacrifices  and  offerings.  This  was  hard  doctrine.  It 
exasperated  the  good  deacon  so  much  that  he  forgot  truth,  and 
the  respect  due  to  his  pastor,  so  far  as  to  reply,  "  I  believe  / 
give  as  much  as  my  minister."  As  truly  might  one  of  those 
respectable  Jews,  whom  Jesus  watched,  have  cast  a  mite  into 
the  treasury,  and  assured  the  poor  widow  that  he  had  given  as 
much  as  she.  Not  unlikely  Mr.  Ycrnon  pushed  the  truth  too 
hard.  He  was  fallible,  like  other  men.  Mary  once  said  to 
him,  "  I  wish  you  would  not  allude  to  the  subject  of  '  giving,' 
for  two  months  to  come ;  Deacon  Hyde  looks  so  troubled." 

But  the  disquiet  of  this  influential  man  was  not  infectious  in 
the  parish,  though  the  same  illiberality  was  prevalent.  The 
people  had  not  been  in  the  habit  of  doing  much  for  a  minister. 
Donations  were  few  and  far  between.  Exact  remuneration  wag 
asked  for  little  services,  for  which  a  Salem  parishioner  would 
have  felt  hurt  by  the  offer  of  payment. 

At  the  expiration  of  the  second   year,  Mr.  Vernon  called 


256  THE   SHADY   SIDE  J    OR, 

together  Esquire  Eaton,  Mr.  Briggs,  and  the  deacons,  to  make 
known  his  pecuniary  circumstances.  They  seemed  surprised. 
Deacon  Hyde  told  him  he  had  nothing  to  complain  of  in  the 
way  of  salary ;  and  Esquire  Eaton  hoped  he  would  not  make 
the  matter  more  public,  or  take  any  steps  about  it  at  present ; 
—  "  there  was  talk  of  getting  him  a  year's  supply  of  wood,  und 
some  had  spoken  of  a  donation  party." 

The  third  year,  filled  up  with  deeds  of  steady  devotion  to 
the  spiritual  interest  of  the  people,  rolled  away.  A  few  indi 
viduals  sent  in  a  chicken  apiece  at  thanksgiving ;  and  a  spare- 
rib  at  the  pork  season ;  and  a  few  balls  of  butter  at  New- 
Year's.  But,  as  to  the.  "  wood-bee,"  and  "donation-party," 
there  was  no  one  to  set  the  thing  forward,  —  taking  the  lead  ; 
and  certain  persons  were  careful  not  to  encourage  so  dangerous 
a  precedent  in  the  parish. 

In  looking  back  upon  the  varied  experience  of  more  than  four 
years,  we  find  many  a  passage,  over  which  it  were  good  to  linger. 
The  revival  and  its  consequents  teemed  with  touching  incident, 
sad  and  joyous:  commingled  disappointment,  and  hope.  The 
pastor's  own  household  shared  largely  in  the  blessing.  Edward 
and  Mabel  were  hopeful  subjects  of  renewing  grace,  while  the 
thoughtful  Allie  developed  largely  that  love  for  religious  things 
which  seemed  very  early  implanted  in  his  heart.  Some  bitter 
disappointments,  too,  attended  "  the  work." 

Mr.  Douglass,  a  widower,  with  five  daughters,  lived  in  a  sub 
stantial  farm-house,  a  mile  east  of  the  village  ;  —  a  man  in  easy 
circumstances,  of  more  liberal  views,  in  the  culture  of  his  chil 
dren,  than  generally  prevailed  in  Olney.  His  daughters  had 
improved  their  advantages,  and  formed  a  most  interesting 
group,  —  fair,  yet  frail,  inheriting  from  their  mother  the  seeds 
of  early  decline.  Under  the  preaching  of  the  new  pastor,  they 
were  among  the  first  to  manifest  special  emotion.  His  heart 
was  greatly  interested  in  them,  and  he  labored  unsparingly  for 
their  salvation.  Yet  the  season  of  merciful  visitation  passed, 
and  left  them  still  out  of  the  fold. 


LIFE   IN   A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  257 

At  the  village  inn,  there  boarded  a  Mrs.  Upton,  and  her  son, 
who  was  clerk  in  Mr.  Briggs'  temperance  grocery.  She  was  a 
native  of  the  place,  who  had  returned  after  an  absence  of  many 
years,  widowed  and  poor,  with  her  only  child,  to  die  in  this 
beautiful  spot,  and  be  buried  beside  her  father  and  mother. 
Between  her  and  the  minister's  family  there  sprung  up  a  sweet 
and  congenial  friendship.  Frank  Upton  was  an  open,  ardent, 
impulsive  youth  of  nineteen,  well  educated  for  business,  of  a 
genial,  social  temperament,  and  a  generous  heart.  Mr.  Vernon 
loved  the  young  man,  and  won  his  affection  in  return.  When 
one  and  another  of  the  dear  youth  of  his  charge  gave  their 
hearts  to  God,  his  soul  yearned  over  this  young  man,  with 
longings  that  would  take  no  denial.  Gay  companionships  kept 
him  aloof  from  the  cross.  His  mother  wept,  and  pleaded,  and 
warned  in  the  hollow  voice  of  the  sepulchre.  The  pastor  and 
his  wife  set  apart  for  him  special  seasons  of  prayer.  At  length, 
his  heart  seemed  suddenly  to  yield,  and  he  consecrated  himself 
to  the  service  of  Christ.  Very  pleasant,  now,  was  the  inter 
course  between  him  and  his  pastor.  To  young  Upton,  Mr. 
Vernon  spoke  freely,  and  in  confidence,  of  many  things  that 
would  not  have  done  for  the  public  ear.  Many  a  pleasant  gift, 
too,  did  the  family  receive  from  the  young  clerk  ;  —  a  paper  of 
choice  tea,  or  fine  sugar ;  a  basket  of  eggs,  when  they  were 
scarce  and  dear ;  a  keg  of  oysters,  or  a  present  of  fruit.  He 
seemed  on  the  look-out  to  confer  a  favor ;  —  and  soon  the  pastor 
began  to  lean  on  him,  and  to  see  in  him  a  future  reformer  and 
leader,  —  one  who  would  help  bear  public  burdens,  and  give  a 
more  liberal  tone  to  the  sentiment  of  the  community.  Alas! 
how  often  does  God  disappoint  such  hopes,  —  taking  away  the 
strong  props  on  which  his  servants  lean,  lest  they  should  trust 
in  man,  and  make  flesh  their  arm  ! 

Frank  was  popular  everywhere,  —  of  good  business  tact,  and 
winning  address.  The  eagle-eyed  proprietor  of  the  large  liquor 
establishment  in  the  village  offered  him  a  good  salary  as  ac 
countant.  The  temptation  was  strong  ;  the  duties  of  the  new 


-     258  THE   SHADY    SIDE  J     OR, 

station  were  more  congenial  than  to  be  boy-of-all-work  at  Mr. 
Briggs'  grocery.  His  mother,  declining  rapidly,  needed  all  tha 
comforts  which  the  increased  salary  would  procure  her ;  and  so 
he  accepted  the  situation,  against  his  pastor's  advice  and  remon 
strance.  Expostulation,  entreaty,  and  earnest  prayers,  followed 
him,  as  he  fell  into  this  snare  of  Satan,  and  was  led  away  from 
Christian  duty.  The  spirited  youth  was  nettled  by  his  pastor's 
plain-dealing ;  he  soon  became  reserved  with  him,  and  at  length 
passed  him  with  cold,  averted  eye.  The  mother,  meanwhile, 
attended  by  the  most  assiduous  ministries  of  Mr.  Vernon  and 
Mary,  went  calmly  down  the  dark  valley,  and  was  gathered 
unto  her  fathers.  Was  not  here  a  tender  chord,  at  whose  touch 
the  wanderer  might  be  brought  back  ?  Again  did  kind  admo 
nition  fall  on  unwilling  ears.  It  was  whispered  that  the  young 
man  occasionally  partook  of  the  social  wine-cup.  Ah !  he  knows 
not  what  tears  are  shed  over  his  waywardness,  by  one  who  loved 
him  as  a  child.  And  was  the  pastor  alone  in  his  efforts  to 
reclaim  and  save  ?  Was  there  not  one,  in  all  that  Christian 
brotherhood,  who  saw  the  danger,  and  interposed  to  avert  it  ? 
Enough  who  saio,  but  not  one  to  save. 

"  If  my  case  is  so  critical,"  said  the  young  man,  "  why  have 
not  the  deacons  or  some  of  the  brethren  spoken  to  me  ?  I  be 
lieve,  sir,  you  are  needlessly  alarmed  ;"  —  and  he  turned  away 
to  make  the  minister's  solicitude  for  him  a  jest  in  the  bar-room 
and  groggery. 

"  And  he  was  one  of  your  brightest  converts,"  said  Mary. 

"  Ah,  yes  !  "  tras  the  reply  ;  "  I  fear  he  was  mine,  and  not 
the  Lord's." 

In  view  of  this  defection,  the  pastor  said,  with  deep  pathos, 
at  the  grave  of  another  whom  he  had  begotten  in  the  Lord,  — 
"  O  !  the  joy  of  a  watchman  for  souls,  when  one,  whom  he  has 
instrumentally  brought  into  the  fold  of  Christ,  has  finished  his 
course,  kept  the  faith,  endured  unto  the  end,  and  is  safe  from 
Billing,  eternally  safe  in  the  heavenly  kingdom." 

But  he  dii  not  abandon  the  backslider;  and  the  young  man 


LIFE  IN   A   COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  259 

felt  uncomfortable  in  his  position.  At  length,  he  resigned  his 
place,  and  departed  to  a  distant  city.  A  tear  stood  in  his  eye, 
and  his  hand  trembled,  at  the  pastor's  parting  benediction. 
,  Is  there  not  many  a  pastor  can  say,  with  Bunyan,  "  If  any 
who  were  awakened  by  my  ministry,  did,  after  that,  fall  back, 
1  can  truly  say  their  loss  hath  been  more  to  me  than  if  my  own 
children  had  been  going  to  their  grave.  Nothing  has  gone  so 
near  me  as  that,  unless  the  fear  of  the  loss  of  my  own  salva 
tion." 

Later  still,  we  find  Mr.  Vernon  a  frequent  visitor  at  Mr. 
Douglass',  on  the  hill-side.  The  rapid  decline  of  two  daughters, 
in  quick  succession,  calls  him  for  six  months,  almost  weekly,  to 
the  farm-house.  The  lamb'  of  the  flock  was  taken  first,  and 
afterward  the  eldest  daughter.  The  seed  of  truth,  sown  so 
diligently  months  before,  now  evinced  its  vitality,  after  much 
watering ;  a  trembling  death-bed  hope  left  some  ground  of 
comfort  to  survivors.  In  this  long  season  of  affliction,  the 
family  leaned  on  their  minister  far  more  than  on  the  physician. 
If  there  was  any  change,  Mr.  Vernon  must  be  sent  for.  His 
wife,  too,  was  often  put  in  requisition.  Many  a  delicacy  did 
she  prepare  with  her  own  hand  for  the  invalids,  —  often,  when 
the  materials  must  be  purchased  for  the  occasion  from  .her 
scanty  purse.  Mr.  Douglass  was  grateful;  so  were  the  sorrow 
ing  sisters.  They  often  said  to  the  pastor,  "  The  Lord  reward 
you ;"  and  to  each  other,  "What  should  we  do  without  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Vernon  ? "  Why  did  it  never  occur  to  the  rich  fanner, 
—  with  his  orchards  full  of  fruit,  and  his  barns  of  hay  and 
grain,  and  his  larder  of  beef  and  pork,  and  his  dairy  of  butter 
and  cheese,  —  why  did  it  not  occur  to  him,  that  he  could  pre 
sent  the  over-tasked  and  poorly-paid  minister  a  substantial 
token  of  his  gratitude  and  love  ?  True,  the  pastor  and  hia 
wife  labored  not  for  the  sake  of  remuneration,  —  their  favors 
were  such  as  money  would  not  have  purchased,  —  yet,  such  a 
tribute,  as  a  token  of  appreciation,  would  have  made  their  eye* 
overflow  with  grateful  tears. 


260  THE   SHADY  SIPE  J    01, 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

v 
u  Bear  ye  one  another's  burdens,  and  so  fulfil  the  law  of  Christ. 51 

IN  this  imperfect  review  of  the  first  few  years  at  Olney,  we 
must  not  overlook  the  pleasures  of  intercourse  with  ministerial 
brethren.  It  was  Mr.  Vernon's  happiness  to  find  congenial 
souls  in  the  ministry  around  him,  whose  frequent  converse 
made  many  a  green  spot,  and  gilded  many  a  dark  cloud,  in  his 
pilgrimage. 

There  was  father  Bellamy,  with  the  wisdom  of  age,  and 
the  experience  of  thirty  years  in  pastoral  life ;  with  a  heart 
full  of  sympathy,  and  a  voice  of  counsel,  unobtruded,  yet 
ready  whenever  advice  was  sought.  He  began  with  a  salary 
of  four  hundred,  and  a  "  settlement ;"  bought  a  farm  with  the 
latter,  when  land  was  cheap,  which  he  diligently  cultivated,  and 
now  has  a  handsome  competence  for  his  old  age.  He  sometimes 
forgets  how  far  the  produce  of  the  farm  contributed  to  the  sup 
port  of  his  family,  and  almost  wonders  that  there  is  so  much 
complaint  of  the  inadequacy  of  modern  salaries. 

When  a  brother  was  ordained,  in  the  vicinity,  with  a  living  of 
four  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  the  good  old  minister  gave  the 
charge  to  the  young  pastor,  in  which  he  shut  him  up  in  rather 
a  narrow  place,  by  the  following  injunctions :  "  Not  to  dissolve 
the  relation  while  he  lived ;  not  to  turn  aside  from  his  proper 
work  to  other  pursuits ;  and,  by  all  means,  to  live  within  his 
income."  To  some  present,  this  charge  seemed  almost  equiv 
alent  to  an  exhortation  to  commit  suicide  by  slow  starvation. 
The  good  father,  when  he  thought  of  the  salary,  —  larger  than 
had  sufficed  him  for  many  years,  —  forgot  that  there  was  with 
it  no  productive  farm  to  furnish  the  staples  of  life.  But  he 
was  a  dear  old  gentleman  "  for  a'  that." 


LITE   IN   A   COUNTRY   PARSONAGE. 

Next  to  him  was  the  parish  of  brother  Catlin,  who,  with  his 
wife,  had  struggled  eighteen  years  to  serve  in  the  Gospel,  edu 
cate  their  four  children,  and  keep  out  of  debt,  on  a  salary  of 
five  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  He  was  the  severe  student,  the 
chaste  writer,  the  acceptable  speaker,  —  dignified,  grave,  and  taci 
turn.  She  was  the  prudent  wife,  the  efficient  mother,  the  literary 
woman,  the  Christian  lady  ;  — :  supplying  to  the  parish  his  lack 
of  social  qualities,  holding  the  pen  of  a  ready  writer,  guiding 
her  household  affairs  with  discretion,  keeping  up  a  telegraphic 
communication  with  her  husband's  professional  experience ;  — 
watching,  toiling,  trusting,  with  a  flashing  eye  that  no  trials 
could  dim,  and  a  hope  in  her  heart  that  many  waters  could  not 
quench ;  —  destined  to  finish  her  work  ere  her  sun  cross  the  me 
ridian  ;  the  goodly  tabernacle  wearing  fast  by  hard  service,  and 
consuming  faster  still  under  the  intenser  life  within. 

Further  south  lived,  —  0,  rare  exception!  —  the  polished 
Mr.  Williams,  with  his  rich  young  wife,  and  beautiful  as  rich, 
and  good  as  beautiful,  —  whose  anonymous  benefactions  deli 
cate  as  timely,  carry  joy  to  many  a  heart. 

On  the  other  side  was  the  complacent  Mr.  Hijl,  with  his 
happified  look,  and  credulous  heart,  and  corpulent,  good-natured 
wife  ;  both  endowed  with  sensibilities  less  acute  than  most  of 
the  fraternity,  thereby  escaping  many  a  heart-ache,  — ay,  and 
many  a  finer  happiness,  too,  —  blissfully  ignorant  of  worldly 
wiles ;  not  troubling  their  simple  souls  with  the  suspicion  that 
their  dear  people  can  desire  their  removal,  though  certain  hinta 
to  that  effect  were  becoming  frequent  and  emphatic.  Their 
income  was  five  hundred  a  year,  with  six  children  to  feed,  and 
clothe,  and  educate ;  and  a  widowed  mother,  whose  only  de 
pendence  was  her  son.  What  wonder  that  he  was  in  debt  ? 

Still  nearer  Olney  was  brother  Merton,  a  fine,  scholarly  man, 
between  thirty  and  forty,  who  was,  at  that  mature  age,  unex 
pectedly  caught  in  silken  meshes,  by  a  young,  fuiry-like  creature, 
the  most  perfect  child  of  nature  in  all  that  sisterhood. 

Just  over  the  mountain-gap  was  the  latest  accession  to  this 


THE   SHADY   SIDE;    OR, 

little  band,  Mr.  Langdon.  He  was  fresh  from  the  seminary 
and  the  marriage  altar ;  and,  after  a  short  hearing,  received  a 
call  with  an  offer  of  five  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  He  said, 
frankly,  "  I  like  the  place,  but  I  cannot  think  of  living  on  that 
income."  Another  fifty  was  added,  and  the  honest-hearted 
theologue  replied  again,  "  I  might  live  on  that,  by  much  self- 
denial.  If  I  were  preaching  the  Gospel  to  a  very  poor  people, 
I  would  be  willing  to  forego  comforts  and  make  sacrifices.  But 
here  the  case  is  different.  None  of  you  practise  self-denial  to 
support  the 'Gospel,  and  I  shall  not  deny  myself  the  comforts 
of  life  to  preach  it  to  you.  I  will  try  on  six  hundred  and 
fifty."  This  excess  of  frankness  availed  him  more  than  the 
nicest  prudence  ;  and  he  was  settled  on  his  own  terms,  though 
they  were  a  startling  innovation  on  the  customs  of  all  the 
region. 

•  One  important  member  of  the  group  is  yet  unmentioned. 
What  circle  of  ministers  is  complete,  without  the  single 
brother,  verging  toward  bachelorhood  ?  —  the  inconsistent  soul, 
who  now  congratulates  himself  that  he  has  no  domestic  chains 
to  bind  him  ;  that  he  is  free  to  come  and  go  as  he  pleases ;  no 
wife  or  baby  to  intrude  upon  his  study  hours,  or  call  him  home 
at  night-fall ;  and,  anon,  is  in  close  conference  with  the  mis 
tress  of  some  parsonage,  declaring,  if  he  knew  of  the  right  one 
in  the  wide  world  for  him,  he  would  win  her,  if  he  could. 
Such  was  Charles  Herbert,  who  was  a  frequent  and  welcome 
guest  at  the  Olney  parsonage. 

And  so  the  circle  was  complete,  —  knit  together  in  tender, 
sympathetic  bonds.  Had  they  not  pledged  each  other  the  right 
hand  of  fellowship?  It  surely  was  something  more  than  a 
name. 

Those  monthly  meetings !  what  seasons  of  refreshing  and  of 
cheer  !  How  valuable  to  the  intellect,  —  how  improving  to  the 
character,  —  how  precious  to  the  heart !  "  As  iron  sharpeneth 
iron,  so  doth  the  countenance  of  a  man  his  friend."  What 
trials  were  recounted,  —  what  mercies  rehearsed,  —  what  per- 


LIFE   IN    A   COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  263 

plcxif  ies  solved,  —  what  impulses  given  and  strengthened  in 
the  common  work,  —  what  counsels  nterchanged,  —  what 
prayers  conjoined,  —  what  blessings  evoked  on  Zion  !  The 
relaxation,  too,  of  a  lighter  hour  has  its  peculiar  charm. 
What  playfulness  of  fancy,  —  what  pungency  of  wit,  —  what 
aptness  of  repartee,  —  what  scintillations  of  thought,  —  what 
exuberant  simplicity ! 

Nor  were  these  occasions  unfruitful  of  good  to  the  wives  of 
the  brethren.  Each,  in  her  turn,  spread  the  festive  board,  and 
caught  many  a  moment  of  pleasant  converse  with  the  guests, 
and  quietly  enjoyed  the  whole,  in  her  husband's  joy.  . 

Then  there  was  the  nearer  intimacy  of  a  smaller  circle, 
-Irawn  together  by  a  peculiar  congeniality,  and  cemented  by 
frequent  interviews,  —  the  social  visit,  or  the  morning  call. 
The  two  families  who  were  bound  in  this  close  familiarity  with 
the  Vernons,  were  those  of  Mr.  Catlin  and  Mr.  Merton.  It 
was  very  pleasant,  every  few  weeks,  to  ride  over  to  brother 
Catlin's,  or  receive  a  visit  at  the  Olney  parsonage.  While  the 
ministers  discussed  a  leading  article  in  the  last  "  Review,"  or 
conferred  upon  a  topic  of  debate  at  their  next  stated  meeting, 
or  opened  some  parish  trouble  for  advice  and  sympathy,  Mary 
prized  highly  the  opportunity  alone  with  Mrs.  Catlin.  She 
leaned  on  her  as  an  elder  sister,  appealing  to  her  judgment 
and  Christian  feeling  with  almost  perfect  confidence.  Mrs. 
Catlin  had  not  all  Mrs.  Vernon's  feminine  softness  and  grace  ; 
yet  she  surpassed  her  in  energy  and  comprehensiveness.  Her 
sphere  of  service  was  a  warp  of  many  threads  and  colors  mul 
tiform,  and  complicated  tissue  ;  yet  she  kept  the  ends  all  in  her 
hand,  and  the  pattern  in  her  eye,  and  carried  the  various  proc 
esses  along  without  confusion  toward  the  finished  web.  After 
communion  with  such  a  spirit,  Mary  went  to  her  daily  tasks 
with  fresh  courage,  and  a  more  vivid  sense  of  responsibility, 
and  a  more  patient  looking  unto  the  end. 

What  Mi's.  Catlin  was  to  her,  was  Mary  to  Mrs.  Merton, 
except  that  the  latter  made  the  largest  demands  for  aid  and 


i!64  .       THE  SUAUY  SIDE;  OR, 

sympathy  Living  only  three  miles  apart  they  indulged  the 
luxury  of  frequent  interviews,  and  shared  many  a  pleasure 
in  common.  Sweet  Lucy  Merton  !  Taken  from  the  bosom 
of  a  loving  circle,  in  a  young  city,  and  transplanted  two  hun 
dred  miles  to  a  strange  soil,  many  fears  were  entertained 
that  her  wise,  sober  husband,  would  not  find  her  exactly  an 
help-meet  for  him.  But  her  very  helplessness  drew  around 
her  many  a  protecting  arm.  Because  she  had  been  tenderly 
reared,  and  was  unused  to  responsibility,  it  did  not  follow 
that  she  would  submit  to  no  privation,  and  have  no  nerve  for 
toil.  "  She  was  such  a  child !  "  said  some.  True,  and  she 
always  will  be,  thank  Heaven  !  if  she  live  to  threescore.  A 
child  of  unaffected  simplicity,  large  conscientiousness,  and  ten 
der  sensibilities, —  true  to  nature,  —  with  a  face  as  changeful 
as  an  April  day,  —  guided  by  instinct  in  her  preferences,  yet 
gentle  and  kind  to  all.  She  has  two  sweet  babes,  with  a  year 
between  them,  upon  whom  she  seldom  gazes  without  having  her 
large  blue  eyes  suffused  with  moisture,  —  so  full  and  over 
flowing  is  the  fountain  of  maternal  tenderness.  She  was  to 
Mary  as  a  younger  sister, — a  pet,  a  darling  to  be  cherished,  and 
soothed,  and  guided,  with  affectionate  consideration.  In  return, 
sister  Lucy  —  as  she  asked  to  be  called  —  regarded  Mrs.  Ver- 
non  with  a  mixture  of  love,  and  gratitude,  and  admiration,  — 
wondering  always  if  she  should  ever  be  as  wise  and  good.  Let 
them  meet  as  often  as  they  might,  she  had  a  question  of  duty 
ready  for  her  oracle. 

Mr.  Merton,  for  the  first  two  years  of  their  life  in  Milton, 
kept  from  his  young  wife  the  fact  that  their  expenditures  ex 
ceeded  their  income!  It  pained  his  generous  nature  to  mako 
such  a  disclosure.  When,  at  length,  there  was  full  confidence 
between  them  on  this  subject,  she  came  to  Olney  for  counsel. 
Sending  her  husband  to  Mr.  Vernon  in  the  study,  she  took 
Mary's  hand,  and  said,  "  Let  me  go  right  through  to  your  littkt 
snuggery.  I  must  have  a  long  talk  with  ycx" 

So  she  drew  a  footstool  to  Mary's  feet;  and,  sifting  down, 


LIFE   IN   A    COUNTRY    PABSONAOB.  265 

looked  up  earnestly  into  her  face,  with  the  question,  "  I  want 
to  ask  how  you  do  to  lice  ?  I  thought  we  were  as  frugal  as 
you ;  but  we  don't  succeed  at  all." 

"  0  !  "  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  our  salary  does  not  support  ua, 
We  have  other  resources  with  which  we  make  ourselves  com 
fortable." 

"  Ah  !  then,  perhaps,  you  would  do  as  poorly  as  we,  on  the 
five  hundred  alone.  But  what  remedy  is  there  ?  Do  we  not 
live  as  close  as  we  can  ?  " 

Mary  smiled  ;  and,  smoothing  back  the  hair  from  that  fair 
forehead, replied,  "Not  quite  as  close  as  we  might,  —  do  we,  sis 
ter  Lucy  ?  I  know  we  have  few  luxuries.  Our  families  are 
only  comfortable ;  yet  there  are  some  comforts  we  could  dis 
pense  with,  if  worse  come  to  worst.  The  fund  that  ekes  out 
our  salary  will  soon  be  exhausted,  and  if  we  remain  here  on  the 
same  income,  I  foresee  we  shall  have  to  devise  expedients.  It 
seems  to  me  I  shall  contrive  ways,  rather  than  run  in  debt." 

"  0  !  is  n't  it  too  bad,"  said  Lucy,  "  when  our  husbands 
work  so  devotedly,  that  the  people  do  not  give  them  enough  to 
feed  and  clothe  their  families  ?  But  come,  tell  me  where  I 
can  begin,  in  a  closer  economy." 

"  Why,  sister  Lucy,  /  cannot  begin  in  your  family." 

"  But  do  tell  me,  dear  Mrs.  Vernon,  of  some  one  thing  you 
would  do.  You  know  how  we  manage." 

"  Well,  if  it  were  my  own  case,  as  it  may  be  soon,  I  could 
dispense  with  tea,  and  coffee,  and  sweetmeats.  I  could  make 
my  pastry  plainer,  and  season  with  molasses  and  allspice.  I 
could  give  up  all  cake  but  gingerbread,  except  an  occasional 
loaf  sacred  to  company.  I  could  mend  my  clothes  a  little 
closer,  and  turn  them  once  more  inside  out ;  and  I  might  some 
times  keep  no  fire  below,  except  in  the  kitchen,  and  thus  save 
fuel." 

"  0  !  you  are  not  serious,  Mrs.  Vernon  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  my  dear,"  said  Mary. 
23 


260  THE   SliADY    SIDE;    OR, 

"  And  you  advise  me  to  this  ?  "  said  Lucy  with  a  martyr  look 
cf  gathering  resolution. 

"  Not  necessarily,"  was  the  reply ;  "  but  I  would  do  some 
thing  to  avoid  debt.  Cannot  Mr.  Merton  think  of  some  way  ? 
Why  could  he  not  take  two  or  three  lads  from  abroad  to  fit  for 
college,  if  you  were  willing  to  have  the  care  ?  " 

Lucy  clapped  her  hands.  "  That 's  it !  Why  could  we  not 
have  thought  of  it  ?  It  will  do  nicely.  I  can  write  to  papa 
to  find  us  some  scholars.  But,  then,"  said  she,  with  a  laugh, 
"I  must  give  up  the  retrenchment  of  table  comforts,  or  the 
boys  would  complain  of  a  design  to  starve  them." 

This  brought  up  again  the  subject  of  economy,  and  Mrs.  Ver- 
non  told  Lucy  that  she  had  learned  to  be  cautious  of  small  out 
lays.  "  They  seem  trifling,  and  yet  swell  the  amount  of  ex 
penditure  very  rapidly.  I  now  consider  longer  over  a  ribbon, 
or  a  bit  of  lace,  than  over  some  large  purchase  that  seems  indis 
pensable.  '  Many  littles  make  a  mickle.'  Avoid  the  shilling 
outlays,  which  accumulate  unawares." 

.  "  0 !  Mrs.  Vernon,"  said  her  young  friend  ;  "  do  you  know 
I  am  so  sorry  I  have  such  good  clothing  ?  it  makes  so  much 
talk." 

"  I  would  not  hear  all  that  is  said  about  it." 

"  Ah  !  you  could  help  it ;  but  how  can  I  ?  Nobody  stands 
in  awe  of  me.  Those  furs  brother  Charles  sent  me  ;  and  now 
I  have  a  new  bonnet  from  sister  Helen,  and  Ada  a  merino  coat 
embroidered  with  silk  braid.  I  am  sorry  they  were  sent. 
What  grieves  me  is,  that  when  our  people  know  that  these 
are  gifts,  and  that  not  one  choice  article  I  have  came  out  of 
Mr.  Merton's  salary,  they  will  have  it  that  he  cannot  live,  for 
my  extravagance.  Then,  they  make  so  many  remarks  about 
my  dress.  I  am  sure  I  do  not  bestow  half  the  thought  upon 
it  myself.  What  would  you  do,  my  dear  sister,  —  not  mind 
what  any  of  them  say  ?  " 

Mary  smiled,  and  answered, ' '  Not  exactly  that,  dear.  You  maj 
get  some  useful  hints  from  the  well-meaning'ladies  around  you, 


LIFE   IN    A   COUNTRY    PARSONAG*.  267 

as  for  the  ill-disposed,  I  would  not  let  their  comments  disturb  my 
peace.  In  the  matter  of  dress,  you  must  depend  mainly  on  your 
own  views  of  propriety ;  which  will  not,  of  course,  overlook  the 
public  sentiment  around  you.  At  Millville,  I  was  complained 
of  for  not  donning  a  more  rich  and  fashionable  attire.  Some 
were  ashamed  to  see  their  minister's  family  clothed  so  meanly. 
Here,  where  I  dress  more  plainly,  there  has  been  some  fault 
finding  the  other  way.  In  following  my  own  tastes  and  judg 
ment,  I  may  have  made  some  mistakes;  but  this  degree  of 
independence  is  safer  than  an  effort  to  accommodate  to  the 
diverse  standards  of  others." 

At  this  stage  of  the  conversation,  the  ladies  heard  their  hus 
bands'  footsteps  in  the  passage.  Lucy  intercepted  their  entrance 
with  the  entreaty,  —  "  0,  Mr.  Vernon !  do  please,  take  my 
husband  back  to  the  study,  and  make  him  forget  time  half  an 
hour  longer  ;  we  have  not  finished  our  confab." 

As  they  turned  to  go  back,  Mr.  Merton  said,  "  Kemember, 
Lucy,  I  have  a  meeting  to-night." 

"  Now  we  are  quiet  again,"  said  the  young  wife,  resuming 
her  seat. 

"  I  fear,"  said  Mary,  gently,  "  that  I  shall  detain  you  too 
long,  and  your  husband  will  be  late  at  his  meeting." 

"  0,  how  thoughtful  you  are!  "  replied  Lucy ;  and  she  kissed 
the  willing  lips  that  stooped  to  hers,  and  said,  with  swimming 
eyes,  and  her  quick  little  laugh,  "  How  I  wish  some  things 
were  contagious,  as  well  as  others!  I  have  some  hope,  how 
ever,  that,  living  so  near,  /shall  grow  to  be  considerate  too." 
Tripping  half-way  up  the  stairs,  she  told  Mr.  Merton  she  was 
ready  ;  and  adding,  "  Don't  forget,  now,  Mrs.  Vernon,  the  rest 
of  that  good  advice,  and  come  over  as  soon  as  ever  you  can,"  — 
again  kissed  good-night.  But,  while  Mr.  Merton  was  turning 
the  carriage,  she  stepped  back  once  more,  to  announce  the 
important  fact  that  baby  Charlie  had  taken  his  first  step  in 
walking  this  very  day. 

As  the  door  was  again  closed.  Mary  sighed,  "  Dear  child  !  " 


268  THE   SHADY    SIDE  J     OR, 

"  Who  ?  —  Sister  Lucy  ?  "  asked  Edward  ;  and,  as  lie  saw  a 
tear  in  her  eye,  he  drew  her  arm  in  his,  and  walked  back  to  the 
fire,  inquiring  if  she  remembered  a  certain  evening  in  the  old 
library,  at  Mayfield,  when  she  asked  the  meaning  of  a  sigh  simi 
larly  freighted  ?  She  recollected  it  well. 

"  Ah !  "  said  he,  "  you  understand  it  now ;  and  so  do  I, 
better  than  T  did  then,  or  it  would  have  been  a  deeper  sigh,  — 
a  groan  ' " 

"  O,  no !  "  said  Mary ;  •"  no,  Edward ;  say  a  lighter  sigh  — 
perchance,  a  song.  Have  not  the  joys  far  outweighed  the 
griefs  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

"  The  daily  martyrdom  of  patience  shall  not  be  wanting  of  reward." 
*  Duty  is  a  prickly  shrub,  but  its  flower  will  be  happiness  and  glory.  ' 

WHILE  the  fifth  year  of  the  Olney  settlement  is  rolling  by, 
let  us  take  closer  note  of  some  matters  and  things  at  the  par 
sonage  and  in  the  parish. 

The  congregation  has  enlarged  under  Mr.  Vernon's  ministry. 
The  society  is  bound  together  by  many  a  new  ligament,  of 
which  it  is  scarcely  conscious.  Unmistakable  signs  of  pros 
perity  appear  on  every  hand.  The  principal  men  feel  satisfied 
and  very  comfortable,  —  if  we  except  some  uneasiness  at  that 
repeated  enforcement  of  liberality,  which  always  hurts  their 
fi^elinss  The  church  is  increasing  in  numbers;  the  pastor  has 
his  eye  on  the  whole  field  ;  everything  is  snug,  and  under  good 
cultivation  ;  then  they  get  good  preaching,  that  keeps  the  audi 
ence  awake,  —  and  all  for  so  small  a  remuneration.  "  They 
had  rather  hear  their  minister,  by  all  odds,  than  that  young 
Mr  Langdon,  to  whom  the  neighboring  parish  pays  six  hundred 
and  fifty  ;  —  they  arc  very  fortunate." 


LIFE  IN   A   COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  269 

They  can  afford  to  compliment  their  minister  handsomely. 
Mr.  Rogers,  —  good  honest  soul,  —  hears  the  congratulations  at 
the  annual  sale  of  pews,  and  volunteers  to  assure  Mr.  Vernon 
of  the  prosperous  state  of  things.  He  drops  in  at  the  parson 
age,  to  say  that  the  slips  never  sold  so  rapidly  before  ;  and  that 
their  income  will  leave  a  balance  in  the  treasury  of  fifty  dollars, 
after  all  the  annual  expenses  are  met !  The  innocent  man  did 
not  see  that  this  was  a  two-edged  compliment,  or  note  how  tho 
pastor  writhed  under  it.  Was  it  so,  then,  that  among  all  those 
pew-holders,  there  was  not  one  to  say,  "  This  surplus  belongs  to 
our  minister ;  it  has  been  brought  in  by  his  faithful  services, 
and  should  be  added  to  his  salary  ?  "  Not  one. 

Hester  Allen,  the  dress-maker,  was  at  the  parsonage  when 
Mr.  Rogers  called.  Her  cheek  flushed,  as,  with  the  irony 
habitual  to  her,  she  said,  "  I  suppose  the  society  will  not 
be  able  to  devise  any  way  of  appropriating  that  fifty  dollars." 

"  O,  yes !  "  said  Mr.  Rogers  ;  "  1  guess  they  will  appropriate 
it  to  a  singing-school." 

It  was  generally  known  that  the  salary  did  not  support  the 
minister.  Yet,  Deacon  Hyde  inwardly  rejoiced  at  the  increas 
ing  demand  for  seats,  as  lessening  the  rent  on  single  pews  another 
year.  If  they  all  sold,  they  could  be  marked  a  little  less. 

In  these  days,  it  was  becoming  common  for  ministers  to  take 
a  vacation  of  two  or  throe  Sabbaths,  and  leave  the  people  to 
supply  the  pulpit.  Mr.  Vernon  asked  of  his  deacons  the 
privilege  of  a  Sabbath  or  two,  that  he  might  visit  friends,  and 
recruit. 

They  scowled  and  grumbled,  and  finally  told  him  that,  if  ho 
had  a  large  society  like  Dr.  B.,  or  Mr.  A.,  it  might  be  reason 
able  ;  but  his  duties  here  were  not  burdensome.  It  surely  could 
not  be  very  fatiguing  to  look  after  so  small  a  parish  as  Olney. 
Besides,  as  to  relaxation,  they  believed  the  minister  and  his 
family  rode  about,  now,  more  than  any  of  the  people. 

Poor  Mr.  Vernon  was  confounded ;  he  went  home  stung  to 
the  quick. 

23* 


270  THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OK, 

"  Why  did  you  not  calmly  reason  the  matter  with  them  ?" 
paid  Mary. 

"  It 's  of  no  use,"  he  replied ;  "  they  cannot  appreciate  it. 
To  argue  the  matter  with  such  men,  1  must  first  find  them,  not 
brains,  but  sensibility.  They  would  work  a  man  to  his  utmost 
capacity,  and  half-starve  him,  meanwhile,  with  the  smoothest 
self-complacency." 

A  like  obtuseness  existed  with  reference  to  Mrs.  Vernon's 
labors.  Because  her  duties  were  noiseless,  and  many  of  them 
out  of  sight,  and  made  up  of  so  many  small  contributions,  put 
ting  in  requisition  the  head  and  heart,  as  well  as  the  hands,  she 
was  regarded  by  numbers  as  a  person  quite  at  leisure,  living  an 
easy  life.  It  was  often  said,  "I  should  think  Mrs.  Vernon 
might  do  this  or  that,  as  she  keeps  a  girl." 

"  It 's  nothing,  I  suppose,"  said  Hester  Allen,  "  to  do  the 
sewing  for  her  whole  family." 

"  It  may  be  something,  as  she  does  it,"  said  Mrs.  White ; 
"but  /can't  afford  to  put  in  so  many  stitches."  If  the  work 
at  the  sewing  society  was  incomplete,  or  wrongly  done,  who 
should  attend  to  it  but  Mrs.  Vernon  ?  "  What  shall  be  done 
with  this  garment,  made  up  inside  out?"  "I can't  be  troubled 
with  it,"  says  Mrs.  Plympton ;  "some  one  who  has  the  leisure, 
—  looking  hard  at  Mrs.  Vernon,  —  had  better  take  it  home, 
and  rectify  it;"  and  they  leave  it  in  Mary's  hands.  There  are 
times,  too,  when  no  place  offers  for  a  meeting.  Mrs.  C.  cannot 
have  it,  because  it  is  so  warm,  or  Mrs.  D.  because  it  is  so  cold; 
but  there  is  always  a  last  'resort,  —  they  can  go  to  the  par 
sonage. 

When  the  simple  Milly  Green,  who  knew  only  just  enough 
to  understand  the  offer  of  salvation,  made  her  circuits  of  the 
neighborhood,  it  was  sometimes  convenient  for  some  Christian 
lady  to  shorten  her  stay,  by  recommending  her  to  go  to  the 
parsonage,  and  see  if  there  were  not  something  she  could  do  for 
Mrs.  Vernon.  The  hint  was  sure  to  take ;  and,  Milly,  in  hei 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PAKSONAQB.  271 

simplicity,  equally  sure  to  report  that  Mrs.  Eaton  or  Mrs. 
Briggs  thought  she  had  better  come. 

Mary  had  a  simple  but  unfailing  antidote  for  the  bitterness 
of  all  such  imposed  burdens.  Looking  beyond  human  selfish 
ness,  she  accepted  the  requisition,  as  from  the  Master  whom  she 
B9rved,  and  discharged  it  heartily,  as  unto  him-.  What  though 
Milly's  visits  were  disagreeable?  —  she  was  one  of  the  Lord's 
little  ones,  and  the  service  for  his  sake  was  light  and  its 
reward  sure. 

With  all  her  trials  at  Olney,  Mary's  affections  were  inter 
twining  here  and  there,  and  building  up  a  nest,  —  a  home  for 
herself  and  loved  ones.  She  found  some  kindred  hearts,  and 
had  learned  to  bear  patiently  with  the  faults  of  tho«e  in  whom 
she  could  see  the  image  of  her  Lord.  Her  heart  was  tender 
and  forgiving.  She  prayed  earnestly  to  be  kept  from  resent 
ments,  and  found  a  growing  readiness  to  extenuate  unkind- 
nesses,  as  the  result  of  thoughtlessness  and  early  prejudices. 
The  obtuseness  of  the  people,  in  respect  to  the  temporal  conv 
fort  of  their  minister,  was,  indeed,  a  grief  to  her  ;  it  was  also 
a  mystery.  Yet,  inasmuch  as  these  trials  came  by  her  heav 
enly  Father's  appointment,  she  regarded  less  the  second  cause, 
and  took  them  as  part  of  the  "all  things"  that  should  work  for 
her  good. 

Edward,  too,  was  approximating  those  serene  heights,  where 
the  soul  sits  secure  amid  the  storms  of  adversity,  though  by  a 
more  tempestuous  course.  He  had  now  nearly  expended  his 
stock  of  sermons,  and  though  he  had  some  freedom  in  writing, — 
though  he  read,  thought,  investigated,  and  brought  forth  things 
new  and  old, — yet  he  suffered  many  a  mental  conflict,  that  con 
sumed  the  day,  and  carried  his  labors  far  into  the  night.  He 
could  not  content  himself  with  superficial  performances,  though 
his  elaborated  discourses  were  seldom  appreciated.  On  one  oc 
casion,  having  spent  a  fortnight  on  a  single  sermon,  with  much 
of  his  old  enthusiasm  in  the  study  of  truth,  he  was  listened 
to  with  an  eagerness  and  emotion  quite  unusual.  For  once,  he 


272  THE   SHADY   SIDE;    OR, 

thought,  the  audience  appreciate  a  well-wrought  sermon.  But, 
lo !  in  the  evening,  a  neighbor  calls,  and  speaks  of  the  discourse 
as  prepared  with  special  reference  to  a  public  event,  —  unknown 
to  the  minister,  —  that  occurred  the  Friday  previous!  "It 
was,"  he  said,  "  a  capital  hit." 

"  And  so,"  said  the  pastor,  after  Mr.  Briggs  was  gone,  "  thej 
thought  I  planned  and  wrote  that  sermon  in  one  day !  " 

During  this  twelvemonth,  we  find  Mrs.  Vernon  adding  a  new 
task  to  her  other  toils.  Mr.  Ellis  had  again  appeared,  and 
demanded  higher  wages  for  Mabel,  or  she  must  leave  "instanter." 
What  could  be  done  ?  They  were  already  living  on  the  strength 
of  the  last  hundred  that  would  accrue  from  the  sale  of  their 
house.  It  would  take  all  to  pay  off  their  yearly  bills.  But 
were  there  no  perquisites  that  could  add  twenty-five  cents  to 
the  girl's  weekly  wages  ?  None  but  marriage  fees,  which  were 
few  and  small.  The  farmers'  sons  were  not  cultivated  on  this 
point,  here,  as  in  "  the  hill  country."  A  young  man,  whose 
•father  was  worth  a  score  of  thousands,  brought  his  bride  to  the 
parsonage,  and  was  married  for  a  dollar.  A  "  two  "  or  "  three  " 
was  the  average  fee,  though  some,  less  able,  gave  more.  What 
ever  it  was,  Edward  always  gave  it  to  Mary ;  but,  in  these  days, 
the  act  was  a  mere  ceremony.  She  would  lay  it  by,  and,  before 
many  days,  have  occasion  to  smile,  archly,  at  the  inquiry,  "  My 
dear,  have  you  any  money  in  your  purse  ?  "  as  she  yielded  it, 
without  a  murmur,  for  some  common  necessary.  This  way 
there  was  no  relief. 

The  people  knew  the  strait,  and  some  offered  sympathy  truly 
precious;  yet  none  thought  how  easily  a  small  contribution 
would  set  the  matter  at  rest.  Mrs.  Plympton  said,  "Miss  Ver 
non  had  been  favored  a  good  while,  and  ought  not  to  complain." 
One  neighbor  volunteered  the  remark,  to  Mabel's  father,  that 
such  a  smart  girl  could  command  fifty  cents  more  a  week,  any 
where  else. 

For  her  children's  sake,  Mary  felt  like  making  any  sacrifices 
to  avoid  parting  with  one  whom  she  had  carefully  trained,  and 


UFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  273 

whose  influence  over  them  so  nicely  accorded  with  the  parental 
discipline  of  the  house.  How  could  she  expose  her  little  onea 
to  contact  with  low,  unprincipled,  or  superstitious  domestics  ? 

At  this  juncture,  Susan  Brown,  a  favorite  at  the  parsonage, 
ran  in,  to  say  to  dear  Mrs.  Vernon,  how  she  did  hate  to  go 
away  to  school ;  and  if  she  could  only  come  and  recite  at  the 
parsonage,  how  happy  it  would  make  her ;  and  papa  should  pay 
as  much  as  they  pleased  to  ask.  Upon  this  hint,  Mary  planned 
her  course.  Soon  she  had  a  class  of  eight  young  girls  at  her 
room,  who,  with  Eddie  and  Allison,  made  up  quite  a  school. 
Her  strength  was  now  tasked  to  the  uttermost,  and  many  incon 
veniences  were  undergone.  Mabel  did  her  part  well,  and  tried 
to  make  things  easy ;  but  duties  would  jostle.  There  was  a 
good  deal  of  friction  ;  and  Edward  felt  that  it  was  a  cruel  neces 
sity  which  thus  multiplied  the  duties  of  a  sphere  already  over 
burdened.  Yet  the  school  flourished,  and  gave  great  satisfac 
tion. 

At  the  close  of  the  first  term,  Deacon  White  called,  and 
asked  an  interview  with  the  mistress  of  the  parsonage,  saying 
there  was  much  dissatisfaction  with  her  teaching  a  private 
school.  Was  there,  then,  a  latent  spark  of  sensibility  kindling 
at  the  reproachful  fact,  that  what  was  withholden  of  adequate 
compensation  from  the  minister  must  be  toiled  for,  in  another 
vocation,  by  his  patient  wife  ?  Ah  !  this  was  not  the  trouble. 
Deacon  White  objected  on  a  different  ground,  namely,  the 
superior  advantages  of  a  few  created  jealousies  among  the  peo 
ple,  and  injured  the  primary  school,  by  withdrawing  patronage. 

There  was,  in  Olney,  somewhat  of  the  dog-in-the-manger 
spirit,  or  something  worse,  which  said,  "  I  do  not  choose  to  give 
my  children  advantages  beyond  a  certain  level ;  therefore  my 
neighbor  shall  not  do  it  for  his,  if  I  can  prevent."  In  view  of 
thi?  unworthy  feeling,  the  class  at  the  parsonage  was  dis 
banded. 

Mr.  Vernon  began,  now,  to  think  seriously  of  a  new  field  of 
labor ;  and  yet  his  heart  sunk  within  him,  at  the  thought.  If 


274  THK   SHADY    SIDE;    OB, 

he  were  to  accomplish  anything  for  the  Redeemer's  cause,  — 
anything  proportionate  to  his  outfit  and  ability,  —  he  must  abide 
in  one  place  long  enough  to  carry  out  matured  plans,  and  con 
summate  his  undertakings.  It  seemed  so  great  a  waste,  —  now, 
when  fairly  acquainted  with  the  peculiarities  of  his  field,  with 
his  hand  on  the  springs  of  character,  ready  to  operate  to  the 
best  advantage ;  now,  when  he  was  really  behind  the  scenes, 
and  had  a  hold  of  men's  consciences,  and  was  established  in 
their  confidence,  —  to  forsake  this  vantage-ground,  and  begin  at 
the  foundation  elsewhere,  while  it  will  take  years  of  like  fidelity 
for  his  successor  to  reach  his  stand-point  here;  —  this  were, 
indeed,  a  double  loss. 

Another  consideration,  too,  had  its  weight.  This  was  his 
third  settlement.  Should  he  now  remove  again,  would  he  not 
be  marked  as  a  man  given  to  change,  •*-  roving  and  restless  ? 
From  such  a  reputation  his  sensitive  spirit  recoiled ;  though 
he  had  observed  that,  of  the  brethren  who  won  laurels  for  the 
gift  of  continuance,  some  outstayed  their  usefulness,  and  others 
endured  evils  from  which  a  proper  self-respect  would  bid  them 
flee. 

0 !  how  often  was  this  subject  revolved  by  the  anxious  pas 
tor  and  his  helpmeet,  late  at  evening,  after  the  house  was  still, 
and  the  babes  asleep,  till  the  fire  went  out,  and  the  lamp  burned 
dim,  leaving  them  as  far  as  ever  from  a  decision,  yet  nearer 
the  source  of  comfort  and  strength,  —  their  hearts  bound,  as 
with  fresh  cords,  to  the  horns  of  the  altar. 

As  the  year  that  exhausts  their  capital  draws  towards  its 
close,  there  is  a  necessity  for  some  action.  Mr.  Vernon,  at  last, 
resolves  to  make  to  his  people  a  formal  disclosure  of  his  pecuni 
ary  disabilities.  It  cost  his  independence  something  of  a  strug 
gle  ;  and  such  was  his  knowledge  of  the  prevailing  cupidity,  he 
had  little  hope  of  its  procuring  relief.  Yet  it  would,  at  least, 
prepare  the  way  for  his  departure  without  blame.  Mary, 
meanwhile,  had  more  confidence  in  the  moral  sense  and  good 
fueling  of  the  people.  She  was  sure  they  would  rally  to  the 


LIFE   IN   A  COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  275 

relief  of  their  pastoi;  when  the  case  should  be  once  clearly  set 
before  them.  Edward  always  shook  his  head  at  this  hopeful 
prediction,  and  she  would  retort  playfully,  "  '  According  to  thy 
laith,  be  it  unto  thee.'  " 

The  important  day  arrived,  and  a  goodly  number  was  gath 
ered,  at  the  pastor's  call,  to  hear  his  communication. 

He  told  them,  in  few  words,  that  when  he  received  a  call  to 
settle  among  them,  on  a  salary  of  five  hundred  dollars,  he 
expressed  the  conviction  that  it  was  not  a  competent  support. 
Yet  he  was  then  ignorant  of  the  cost  of  living  here,  as  well  as 
their  habits  in  regard  to  donations  and  private  contributions. 
Hence  he  resolved  to  try.  The  result  had  been,  as  was  known 
to  most  of  them,  that  he  had  been  obliged  to  add,  from  his  own 
capital,  a  hundred  dollars,  yearly,  to  defray  his  ordinary  cur 
rent  expenses.  This  reliance  was  now  about  exhausted. 
Unless  some  other  provision  could  be  made,  he  must  soon 
involve  himself  in  debt,  or  seek  another  field.  He  reminded 
them  of  his  manner  of  life  among  them.  He  had  devoted  his 
whole  ability,  such  as  it  was,  to  his  professional  work,  not  turn 
ing  aside  to  any  other  pursuit.  As  to  the  fruit  of  his  labors, 
his  acknowledgments  were  due  elsewhere,  —  even  to  Him  who 
hath  given  the  increase. 

One  thing  he  would  say,  —  the  Gospel  is  a  debtor  to  no  peo 
ple,  neither  is  the  support  of  its  ministry  a  charity. 

If,  for  want  of  reflection,  it  seemed  to  any  that  five  hurtdred 
dollars  must  be  an  ample  support,  he  would  go  into  particulars, 
and  open  the  thing  arithmetically.  Figures  will  not  lie. 

$500 

There  is,  first,  for  house-rent,  $75 

Horse-keeping  (to  say  nothing  of  repairs  on  harness, 

carriage,  &c.),  75 

Domestic  help,  (board  and  wages,)  100 

These  three  items  take  half  the  salary,  $250 

before  we  come  to  the  support  of  the  pastor,  his  wife, 


276  THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OR, 

and  four  children.     Fifty  dollars  more  $50 

will  barely  cover  the  expense  of  fuel,  lights,  sermou- 

paper,  and  postage,  $800 

\  

leaving,  again,  $200 

or  less  than  four  dollars  a  week,  to  feed  and  clothe  a  family  of 
six  ;  to  entertain  company,  and  pay  sickness  bills ;  to  buy  books 
and  periodicals,  and  educate  the  children ;  to  meet  incidental 
expenses,  and  the  calls  of  systematic  benevolence. 

With  this  explanation,  Mr.  Vernon  retired,  expecting  that 
the  action  of  the  society  would  be  made  known  to  him  by  their 
committee.  But  he  waited  in  vain  for  any  response  to  his 
communication,  official  or  private.  In  the  weeks  that  followed, 
rumor  brought,  by  piece-meal,  to  his  ear,  the  facts  which  no 
member  of  the  society  had  the  courage  or  courtesy  to  reveal  to 
him. 

It  appeared  that  a  motion  was  made,  by  Mr.  Rogers,  to  add 
a  hundred  dollars  to  the  salary ;  but  it  was  defeated  by  various 
influences.  Some  thought  it  a  hasty  measure.  Others,  who 
were  in  favor  of  the  thing,  differed  as  to  the  mode  of  doing  it, 
and  had  not  largeness  of  soul  enough  to  let  relief  come  to  the 
straitened  minister,  unless  it  could  be  rendered  in  their  way.  A 
few,  beside,  were  strongly  disinclined  to  the  proposed  increase 
of  salary,  partly  from  native  penuriousness,  and  partly  from  a 
growing  coldness  toward  a  preacher  who  struck  such  blows  at 
their  selfish  illiberality  and  sloth.  Among  them  formal  action 
was  at  an  end.  Many  were  disappointed,  and^  agreed  to  help 
the  minister,  individually,  by  seasonable  donations.  For  a  few 
weeks,  a  stream  of  beneficence  set  toward  the  parsonage ;  but,  like 
a  spring  freshet,  it  was  soon  exhausted.  There  was  no  native 
current  in  that  direction,  fed  by  perennial  fountains.  Esquire 
Eaton's  .amount  of  help  was  a  load  of  chestnut  wood,  which, 
reliable  as  his  generosity,  crackled  and  blazed,  and  soon  was  not, 
So  acute  and  complex  were  the  pastor's  emotions,  that  it  were 
difficult  to  tell  whether  these  bounties  gave  him  more  pleasure 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  277 

or  pain      A  half-dozen  individuals  sent  an  offering  of  money, 
their  fair  proportion  of  the  proposed  addition  to  the  salary. 

Pastoral  duties  and  sermon-making  dragged  heavily,  at  the 
parsonage,  in  these  patience-trying  circumstances.  There  was 
much  wounded  sensibility  there,  and  some  risings  of  "  the  old 
man,"  and  earnest  cries  for  deliverance  from  temptation,  and  a 
fresh  pluming  of  faith's  drooping  wing,  and  an  importunate 
turning  of  parched  lips  from  broken  cisterns  to  the  lining  foun 
tain. 

"  What,  though  the  springs  of  life  were  broke, 

And  flesh  and  heart  should  faint; 
God  is  my  soul's  eternal  rock, 
The  strength  of  every  saint." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

"  Ah  !  storms  and  wintry  weathei 
Reign  merciless  and  strong." 

THE  months  speed  on,  and  our  minister  take&  no  steps  toward 
a  new  field  of  labor.  He  is  not  the  man  Uy  elbow  his  way 
amidst  the  aspirants  for  place.  Indeed,  he  shrinks  too  sensi 
tively  from  the  mention  of  his  name  as  a  candidate  abroad. 

One  evening,  after  a  long  reverie,  he  says  to  Mary,  "  I  fore 
see  we  shall  be  compelled  to  stay  in  Olney  another  year.  Our 
expenses,  too,  are  increasing.  What  do  you  think  of  selling 
Pompoy  ?  " 

Mary  started,  as  from  sudden  pain,  and  said,  "  What  could 
you  do,  Edward,  without  a  horse  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know."  said  he,  "  because  I  have  not  tried  ;  but,  I 
do  know  that  I  cannot  live  with  one." 

This  opened  the  way  for  the  pros  and  cons,  and  it  was  finally 
resolved  to  make  the  sacrifice. 

The  minister's  fine  horse  had  been  often  coveted.  Many  a 
•21 


278  THE  SIIADY  SIDE;  OR, 

time  he  had  been  pointed  at,  with  the  half-envious  remark 
''Our  minister  drives  the  best  horse  in  town;"  or,  "There 
goes  a  horse  worth  a  hundred  and  fifty,  any  day."  But,  as 
Boon  as  it  was  known  that  Mr.  Vernon  wished  to  sell,  the  esti 
mated  value  fell.  True,  Pompey  had  entered  his  teens,  yet  he 
had  been  used  with  care,  and  was  as  young  as  many  a  steed  at 
ten.  Mary  entreated  that  he  might  not  be  sold  to  remain  in 
Olney,  lest  the  frequent  sight  of  him,  in  other  hands,  should 
awaken  too  keen  regrets.  A  business  man  would  not  have 
parted  with  him  at  less  than  a  hundred  dollars.  But  when 
did  a  poor,  straitened  minister  ever  sell  an  article  at  its  max 
imum  value  ?  Advantage  was  taken  of  his  necessity,  and  a 
contract  closed  for  seventy. 

The  day  he  was  to  leave,  Mary  fed  him  with  apples,  from 
her  own  hand,  which  he  took  with  an  almost  human  look ;  — 
her  last  act  of  kindness  to  the  noble  animal,  that  had  been  as 
one  of  the  family  from  its  first  organization  until  now.  As 
his  new  owner  led  him  away,  Mary  thought  his  coat  had  never 
shone  so  glossy  black,  or  his  neck  arched  so  proudly,  or  his 
step  pranced  so  gayly  as  now.  She  had  tried  to  prepare  the 
children  for  the  sad  event,  and  succeeded  with  all,  but  Master 
Edward.  Pompey  was  his  special  charge  and  pride  ;  —  how 
could  he  give  him  up  ? 

Mr.  Vernon  went  to  his  study  in  silence  ;  and  came  down  at 
length  to  dinner,  with  eyes  that  told  a  tale  of  weeping.  Tears, 
long  pent-up,  took  occasion  of  this  opening  of  the  sluices,  to 
pour  forth  freely.  The  children  got  bravely  through  the  din 
ner  ;  but,  afterwards,  seeing  her  father  look  sadly  out  toward 
the  empty  stable,  little  Bose  climbed  his  knee,  and  whispered, 
"  Never  mind,  dear  papa,  we  shall  see  Pompey  again,"  —  "  in 
heaven,"  she  was  about  to  say,  —  but,  suddenly  recollecting, 
ehe  added,  "  0,  no !  he  has  no  soul,  has  he  ?  poor,  dear  Pom- 
pey ! "  and  the  tears  rained  fast  through  her  chubby  fingers, 
with  which  she  tried  to  hide  them  from  papa. 

When  the  time  came  for  young   Edward's   recitation,  he 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  27U 

entered  the  study  without  his  books,  holding  a  folded  letter,  and 
saying,  "  I  have  no  lesson  to-day,  uncle.  I  have  been  writing 
to  i'ather  and  mother.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  tell  you,"  looking 
down,  confused,  "  that  I  have  asked  them  to  let  me  come  and 
live  with  them." 

"  What  does  this  mean,  Eddie  ?     Shall  I  read  the  letter  ? " 

"  I  did  not  write  it,  expecting  you  to  see  it,  sir ;  but,  you 
may  as  well.  It  will  tell  you  my  reasons."  Here  the  poor 
boy  choked  with  emotion. 

44  Shall  I  go  down  and  read  it  with  your  aunt  ?  I  think  she 
will  have  a  word  to  say  in  this  matter.  You  are  her  eldest 
son,  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Vernon,  smiling  fondly. 

Eddie  could  not  return  the  smile ;  he  only  said,  "  Auntie 
will  think  some  of  it  is  wrong  and  wicked  ;  but,  0,  I  could  not 
help  it !  I  could  not  help  it !  "  The  letter  was  not  read  with 
out  a  renewal  of  tears.  We  copy  it  entire. 

"  OLNEY,  February,  18—. 
14  MY  DEAR  PARENTS,  — 

"  I  fear  you  will  be  greatly  disappointed,  when  I  tell  you  1 
do  not  wish  to  stay  any  longer  in  Olney.  It  is  not  any  fault 
in  my  uncle's  family,  and  I  hope  not  in  myself.  They  have 
been  very,  very  kind  to  me,  and  I  love  them  with  all  my  heart. 
But  I  do  not  think  it  would  be  right  for  me  to  stay  here,  and 
be  a  care  and  expense  to  them  any  more.  They  have  taken  a 
great  deal  of  pains  with  me,  and  I  know  they  do  it  cheerfully  ; 
but  I  have  long  felt  that  they  were  not  able.  I  have  noticed 
how  close  they  had  to  calculate  ;  —  and  now,  don't  you  think, 
uncle  has  had  to  sell  his  horse  to  keep  from  running  in  debt ! 
I  cannot  help  crying  about  it.  Poor,  dear  Pompey  !  I  loved 
him,  it  seems  to  me,  next  best  to  dear  little  cousin  Abby.  I 
suppose  I  ought  not  to  say  that,  exactly,  and  perhaps  it  is  not 
just  true.  But,  you  know,  dear  parents,  that  I  have  been 
brought  up  with  Pompey.  0,  I  remember  so  well  the  first 
time  I  saw  him  at  our  old  home  in  Norfield  !  And  now  to 


280  THE   SHADY   SIDE;    OK, 

think  he  is  sold  where  I  shall  never  see  him  again,  —  and  all 
because  the  people  here  are  too  stingy  to  support  their  minis 
ter  !  Auntie  would  n't  like  it,  if  she  knew  I  said  that ;  but 
it  's  true,  any  way.  I  am  afraid  you  will  think  I  have  made 
a  great  ado  about  Pompey ;  but  I  have  kept  it  to  myself.  Aunt 
Mary,  told  me  all  about  it,  after  they  had  concluded  to  sell  him, 
before  he  was  taken  away.  She  said  she  relied  on  me  to  be 
brave  and  manly  ;  '  for,'  said  she,  '  your  uncle  is  much  grieved 
about  it,  and  if  he  sees  that  it  distresses  you,  it  will  make  mat 
ters  worse.'  The  tears  were  in  her  eyes  all  the  while  ;  —  but 
she  is  so  good  !  I  expect  she  talked  to  the  other  children,  too. 
After  Pompey  was  really  gone,  Uncle  Edward  came  down  from 
the  study  to  dinner,  looking  very  sad,  and  Cousin  Allie  ex 
changed  glances  with  his  mother,  and  they  tried  to  talk  and 
laugh  as  though  nothing  had  happened.  But  I  must  not  fill 
up  my  paper  with  this.  I  want  you  to  hear  all  my  reasons 
for  leaving  here.  This  is  the  first  one  ;  because  they  are  poor 
and  troubled  to  live.  Another  is,  they  have  cares  enough 
•without  looking  after  me.  It  takes  up  a  good  deal  of  uncle's 
time  to  hear  my  recitations ;  but,  most  of  the  care  comes  upon 
auntie.  She  hears  many  of  my  lessons,  and  she  is  always 
watching  over  me,  and  doing  something  for  me.  And  she  has 
more  than  she  ought  to  do,  besides  this.  0,  mother  !  I  often 
remember  what  you  said  before  I  came  here,  that  auntie  must 
have  an  easy  time,  as  she  had  no  farm  or  dairy  to  take  care  of. 
I  guess  you  would  think  differently,  if  you  were  here.  I  don't 
know  of  anybody  that  has  so  many  cares.  She  has  everything 
to  attend  to ;  yet  she  is  so  gentle,  and  patient,  and  loving,  in 
it  all !  But  you  would  be  surprised  at  the  change  in  her  looks. 
Her  face  is  so  long  and  pale,  and  her  eyes  don't  look  half  so 
dark  as  they  used  to.  She  keeps  the  same  sweet  smile  yet;  but 
I  hardly  ever  hear  her  laugh  now,  as  merrily  as  when  she 
frolicked  with  me  in  the  old  yard.  She  has  too  much  on  her 
mind,  and  too  much  on  her  hands ;  and  I  ought  not  to  tax  her 
any  longer.  Another  thing, —  I  know  she  is  very  anxious  to 


LIFE  IN    A   COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  281 

have  Ellen  home  again ;  and,  if  I  were  away,  I  suspect  they 
would  take  her  from  her  aunt.  I  know  she  does  n't  have  suck 
training  there  as  the  rest  of  us  do  here,  and  I  often  think  thej 
feel  unhappy  about  her. 

"  You  will  ask  me,  dear  father  and  mother,  where  I  will  £ 
to  fit  for  college,  if  I  leave  uncle's.  I  hate  to  disappoint  yoc, 
but  I  do  not  want  to  go  to  college.  I  know  you  have  hoped  1 
would  follow  Uncle  Edward's  steps,  but  I  never  shall  be  gooa 
enough  to  be  a  minister.  And  if  I  were,  I  cannot  be  a  minis 
ter  !  /  am  forever  set  against  it  I  I  have  seen  too  much 
how  they  are  treated.  Dear  uncle  and  aunt  have  done  a  great 
deal  of  good,  and  they  seem  to  take  things  —  at  least  auntie 
does  —  very  cheerfully ;  but  it 's  too  bad  !  I  could  n't  stand  it. 

"  There  are  some  religious  folks  here,  that  I  don't  know  about 
getting  to  heaven.  I  should  n't  much  want  to  see  them  there. 
0,  this  is  wrong  !  What  would  Aunt  Mary  say  to  it  ?  You 
see,  my  dear  parents,  I  am  so  much  exfited  at  thinking  this  all 
over  —  about  Pompey's  being  sold,  and  about  the  other  things 
—  that  you  must  make  allowance  for  me. 

"  Please  write  soon,  and  tell  me  I  may  come  out  to  you,  and 
go  to  work  on  your  new  farm.  I  am  in  a  great  hurry  to  make 
some  money,  that  I  may  help  dear  uncle  and  aunt,  to  whom  I 
owe  so  much  ;  though  I  am  afraid  they  will  wear  out  first.  I 
want  to  be  earning  something  for  myself,  too,  just  so  that  I 
may  come  and  settle  down  here  in  old  Olney,  and  show  people 
how  to  support  a  minister.  Give  my  love  to  the  boys,  and 
answer  this  soon. 

"  Your  affectionate  son, 

"  EDWARD." 

We  have  not  room  for  the  process  by  which  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
V'ernon  reached  the  affecting  conclusion,  that  it  was  best  for 
Edward  to  abandon  a  collegiate  course,  and  seek  an  entrance 
into  business.  Mr.  Vernon  wrote  immediately  to  his  brother, 
saying  —  rur^ong  other  things,  —  "  With  the  boy's  present  foci- 
24* 


U82  THE  SHADY   BIDE  J    OB, 

ings,  it  is  of  no  use  to  urge  him  to  the  pursuit  of  a  liberal  edu 
cation.  Its  rewards  are  slow,  and  he  is  impatient.  But  do  not 
reproach  him,  dear  James.  He  has,  at  the  bottom,  motives 
the  most  generous  and  disinterested.  We  love  the  boy  with  all 
our  hearts,  and  know  not  how  to  give  him  up,  —  yet  fear  a  per 
manent  injury  to  him  by  a  longer  continuance  here.  It  is  sad 
that  a  spirit  so  young  should  be  embittered,  and  confidence  in 
Christian  men  shaken.  I  have  not  known,  till  now,  what  a 
strong  under-current  of  feeling  was  gathering  force  in  his 
bosom.  Ah  !  it  is  a  trying  ordeal  this,  for  older  hearts  than 
his.  Well,  let  the  boy  have  his  way ;  he  is  about  right,  I 
believe.  Who  knows  but  he  is  raised  up  for  this  very  purpose, 
to  be  a  staff  and  comfort,  by  and  by,  to  some  otherwise  fainting, 
famished  minister  ?  " 

Mary  grieved  sore  at  this  turn  of  things.  Nothing  had,  in 
a  long  while,  gone  so  near  her  heart.  Much  as  she  felt  Ellen's 
a.bsence,  this  was  a  harder  trial  still. 

While  waiting  for  his  father's  answer,  Eddie's  heart,  too,  often 
failed  him.  How  could  he  leave  these  foster  parents  ?  —  how 
part  with  the  children  ?  His  aunt  resolved,  before  he  left,  to 
correct  some  of  his  notions  on  the  subject  of  the  ministerial  pro 
fession.  He  was  quite  ready  to  converse  upon  the  topic.  "  I 
fear,"  said  she,  "  that  you  are  indulging  some  wrong  views,  as 
well  as  unchristian  feeling,  on  this  subject." 

"  I  think,  Aunt  Mary,  I  ought  to  know  something  about  it. 
I  have  lived  with  you  in  two  places,  and  uncle  has  been 
treated  so  abusively,  I  could  not  help  feeling  as  I  expressed  in 
my  letter." 

"  But  all  parishes  are  not  alike,  Edward.  There  are  places 
where  the  minister  and  his  family  are  treated  with  the  most 
tender  consideration,  —  where  the  relation  is  mutually  pleasant 
and  satisfying  ;  —  he,  ministering  to  their  edification'  in  spirit 
ual  things,  and  they,  in  return,  providing  all  things  needful  for 
his  temporal  wants.  True,  there  is  not,  anywhere,  sufficient 
provision  made  for  accumulating  something  against  old  ago,  or 

• 


LITE   IN   A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE. 

disability.  Yet  there  is  many  a  minister  whose  passing  wants 
are  amply  supplied  ;  so  that  the  question,  What  shall  we  eat  ? 
—  or,  What  shall  we  drink  ?  —  or,  Wherewithal  shall  we  bo 
clothed  ?  —  does  not  follow  him  like  his  shadow,  and  fill  his 
sermons  with  anxious  interrogation  points." 

Edward  smiled,  and  shook  his  head.  "  There  must  be  such, 
I  suppose,  auntie,  if  you  say  so ;  but  I  guess  they  don't  live 
about  here,  unless  this  new  Mr.  Langdon  is  one.  Mr.  Wil 
liams,  though,  is  rich  enough." 

She  resumed :  "I  cannot  endure,  my  dear  Edward,  that  your 
young  heart  should  be  so  wrung  for  us,  or  that  you  should 
cherish  bitterness  and  prejudice." 

"  It  is  not  prejudice,  auntie ;  have  n't  I  seen  ?  " 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  said  Mary,  "  you  have  seen  many  things 
that  ought  not  to  exist.  God  only  knows  how  wrong  they  are, 
and  how  much  suffering  they  occasion  ;  but  there  are  other 
things  that  help  to  counterbalance.  There  were  some  choice 
people  in  Millville.  Here,  likewise,  you  can  look  around,  and 
count  many  kind-hearted  Christian  people.  The  narrow-mind 
edness,  in  many  instances,  is  not  the  fault  of  the  heart,  but  of 
early  training  and  ignorance." 

"  Deacon  Hyde  is  not  an  ignorant  man,"  said  Eddie ;  "  ha 
rode  by,  last  night,  to  the  west-district  meeting,  without  offer 
ing  to  carry  uncle,  though  he  knew  Pompey  was  sold,  and  he 
would  have  to  walk  two  miles  in  the  snow." 

"Well,  we  will  not  talk  of  him  now.  Perhaps  he  feared,  if 
he  asked  your  uncle  to  ride  once  he  would  expect  it  again,  till 
he  would  grow  burdensome.  I  wish  to  call  your  attention  to 
one  thing  which  you  seem  to  have  overlooked.  The  trials  are 
not  all  on  one  side.  The  people  have  their  forbearance  and 
patience  fried  with  the  minister. v 

"  I  thought  all  ministers  were  good  men,'  said  the  boy, 
hastily. 

"  Well,  allowing  that,  my  child,  good  men  are  imperfect,  the 
best  of  them ;  and  some  of  them  have  very  glaring  faulta 


284  THE    SHADY   SIDE  J     OB, 

Why  should  not  ministers,  occasionally,  be  among  this  numoer  ? 
I  know  of  a  parish,  not  many  miles  distant,  which  has  had  a 
succession  for  fifteen  years,  of  pastors  with  very  serious  defects 
of  character.  One  was  petulant  and  irritable,  taking  most 
things  he  met  across  the  grain,  and  in  his  rashness  berating  his 
best  friends.  Another  was  endowed,  as  one  of  his  gocd-natured 
people  said,  with  every  kind  of  sense  but  common  sense.  Hia 
poor  judgment  was  always  leading  him  into  mistakes  that  he 
had  not  the  skill  to  rectify ;  so  that  where  he  took  two  steps 
forward,  in  a  good  cause,  he  was  sure  to  take  one  backward,  his 
zeal  surpassing  his  discretion.  The  third  and  last  minister  was 
the  worst  of  the  three,  —  a  mean,  parsimonious  spirit,  scandal 
izing  religion  by  the  reputation  of  being  the  closest  man  at  a 
bargain  in  the  parish.  Yet,  that  patient,  generous  people,  bore 
with  the  failings  of  their  ministers,  and  kept  them  until  they 
naked  to  be  dismissed." 

Edward  clapped  his  hands.  "  I  wish,"  said  he,  "you  would 
leave  Olney,  and  let  these  ministers  be  all  settled  here,  in  suc 
cession.  I  would  n't  care,  though,  if  the  stingy  one  were 
divided  between  Olney  and  Millville." 

"  0,  Eddie,  don't  talk  so  !  There  is  some  occasion  for  for 
bearance  with  every  minister.  Your  uncle  has  his  infirmities." 

"  But  that  is  no  reason  why  he  should  not  be  paid  for  his  ser 
vices,"  said  the  honest  boy.  "  Besides,"  —  and  his  dark  eye 
sparkled,  —  "  if  ministers  are  faulty,  I  guess  their  tvives  are 
pretty  nearly  perfect.  I  know  one  that  is." 

Mary  involuntarily  pressed  the  hand  she  held  in  hers  ;  and 
the  emotion,  which  his  assumed  playfulness  was  designed  to 
conceal,  burst  forth  in  the  passionate  exclamation,  "  0 !  Aunt 
Mary,  who  will  talk  to  me  so  lovingly  and  patiently,  when  I 
am  far  away  from  you  ?  I  am  so  hasty,  and  my  feelfhgs  carry 
me  to  such  extremes!  But  you  never  leave  a  matter,  til  you 
make  me  see  the  right  and  wrong  of  it.  O  '  what  shall  I  do 
without  yDu?  "  And  they  wept  together. 

Another  month  brought  the  western  letter.     After  saying 


LIFE   IN   A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  285 

that  the  boy,  of  course,  must  come  home  ;  and  that,  after  a  six 
months'  tug  at  clearing  up  western  lands,  he  might  be  willing 
to  resume  his  books  and  go  to  college,  brother  James  spoke  out 
with  his  wonted  frankness,  about  the  minister's  position  at 
Gluey.  "  What  has  come  over  you,  Ned,  to  stay  and  bear 
with  such  a  people  ?  You  must  have  changed  much,  to  endure 
this.  But,  don't  flatter  yourself,  my  dear  fellow,  that  you 
have  the  general  affection  and  confidence  of  the  people.  I 
can't  believe  it ;  there  must  be  some  covered  mischief,  —  some 
secret  antipathies.  People  who  love  and  value  a  minister,  do 
not  act  in  this  way.  It  would  be  a  curious  state  of  things,  — 
with  an  ample  fund,  and  with  ability,  as  you  say,  to  support 
the  Gospel  handsomely  without  it,  —  to  let  their  minister 
expend  all  his  own  capital,  and  sell  his  horse,  and  drag  on  in 
poverty.  No  !  —  there  is  something,  depend  upon  it,  that  you 
do  not  see  ;  and  I  would  advise  you  to  get  away  from  the  place 
as  quick  as  possible.  We  pity  our  home  missionaries ;  but  their 
four  hundred  is  better  here  than  your  five.  The  public  senti 
ment  with  you  requires  a  minister  to  live  in  better  style  than 
with  us.  Your  cloth  must  be  finer,  and  not  worn  so  close. 
Your  house  must  have  better  furnishings,  and  your  table  more 
comforts ;  or,  even  your  own  people  would  make  a  buzzing 
about  your  ears,  to  say  nothing  of  the  ado  of  brother  ministers 
and  travelling  agents.  What  would  an  agent  do  in  Massachu 
setts,  whose  horse  was  left  to  eat  post-meat,  while  he  was  fed 
on  boiled  rice,  the  only  edible  the  parsonage  contained  ?  Such 
things  happen  here,  and  are  put  up  with.  But  our  New  Eng 
land  folks,  though  they  mean  their  minister  shall  practise  a 
close  economy,  are  not  willing  he  shall  be  shabby,  or  rusty. 
They  want  the  full  tale  of  brick,  even  when  they  scrimp  the 
straw." 

"  About  my  estimate  among  the  people,  I  think  brother 
James  mast  be  right,"  said  Edward. 

Mary  replied,  with  unusual  warmth,  "  We  have  known  the 
deacons  did  not  like  your  independence  and  faithfulness ;  but  I 


286  THE   SHADY    SIDE;     OR, 

cannot  believe  there  is  any  secret  disaffection  through  the  par 
ish.  I  know  the  body  of  the  people  love  and  honor  you." 

"  Then  why  will  they  let  us  suffer  ?  " 

"  They  do  not  appreciate  our  situation,  or  realize  what  strug 
gles  and  turns  we  make  to  live ;  then,  they  do  so  love  their 
motiey." 

The  day  of  young  Edward's  departure  was  a  sad  day  at  the 
parsonage.  The  sensitive  boy  covered  his  emotion  under  glow 
ing  pictures  of  the  future.  In  four  or  five  years  he  hoped  to 
return  with  the  first  fruits  of  his  industry,  —  perhaps  a  fine 
salary  as  clerk  in  a  mercantile  house,  which  was  to  be  laid  as  a 
free-will  offering  at  the  feet  of  his  benefactors.  "  And,"  said 
the  vivacious  boy,  "  when  you  look  up  street  some  day,  and  see 
a  black  horse  coming,  with  a  curious  load  in  the  rear,  you  may 
know  that  I  have  brought  back  Pompey,  and  redeemed  the 
piano,  and  that  we  are  all  coming  home  together." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Allie,  "  that  Pompey  will  be  gray  by 
that  time." 

"  Well,"  resumed  the  young  hero,  "  if  he  is  too  infirm  for 
service,  we  will  keep  him  for  the  sake  of  old  times,  and  have  a 
young  horse  besides,  to  draw  the  carriage." 

"  And  a  new  rockaway  ?  "  said  Allie. 

"  0,  you  ingenious  castle-builders !  "  said  Mr.  Vernon. 

"  Ah  !  my  dear  boys,"  said  Mary,  "  you  are  looking  too  tar 
ahead.  The  future  is  all  uncertain  ;  but  we  know  where  to  trust 
it,  —  do  we  not  ?  —  and  cheerfully,  too.  All  will  be  right." 

"  Well,  auntie,  in  less  than  six  years  I  shall  be  of  age,  and 
you  see  if  I  don't  make  a  rich  man  ;  and  I  shall  be  your  boy 
then,  the  same  as  now,  and  all  shall  be  yours.  Mabel,  too, 
shall  have  something.  Yes,  you  are  one  of  the  family,  and  I 
shall  not  forget ;"  and  he  kissed  them  each,  and  jumped  into 
the  stage-coach  with  all  haste,  not  able  to  trust  his  self-restraint 
another  moment. 

Yes,  noble  boy !  thou  wilt,  indeed,  be  rich  and  honorable 


LIFE   IN   A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  287 

So  far,  thy  hopes  are  prophecies.  But,  when  that  consumma 
tion  comes,  these  guardians  of  thy  early  days  will  be  beyond 
the  need  of  thy  generous  requital  and  filial  ministries,  wearing 
their  angel  robes  and  starry  crown.  They  may,  indeed,  look 
down  from  thence,  and  bless  thee  for  thy  kindness  to  the 
orphans. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

"  Toiling,  rejoicing,  sorrowing, 
Each  day  shall  see  some  task  begun,  — 

Each  evening  see  it  elose  ; 
Something  attempted,  something  done, 

Shall  win  a  night's  repose." 

IT  has  been  forcibly  said,  by  Hugh  Miller,  that  "  the  climax 
is  a  favorite  figure  in  the  book  of  Providence ;"  that  "  GotJ 
speaks  to  us  in  his  dispensations,  and,  in  the  more  eloquent  turna 
of  his  discourse,  piles  up  instance  upon  instance  with  sublime 
and  impressive  profusion."  The  observation  was  recalled  to  us 
by  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  course  of  things,  the  next  eighteen 
months,  at  the  Olney  parsonage.  We  must  be  pardoned,  if 
our  portraiture  crowd  naked  events  together  in  unnatural  prox 
imity.  The  path  is  filled  with  incident.  We  have  room  only 
for  jottings  along  the  way,  leaving  those  that  follow  us  to  add 
the  drapery  from  their  own  fancy,  and  do  their  moralizing  at 
leisure. 

The  first  noticeable  event,  after  young  Edward's  departure,  is 
the  return  of  little  Ellen,  according  to  his  prediction.  How 
those  hearts  had  yearned  for  her  these  many  months !  and  how 
often  had  the  prayer  been  wafted  on  sighs  that  she  might  bo 
kept  "  from  the  evil ! "  It  was  a  cruel  necessity  —  earthward, 
it  was  cruel  —  that  removed  the  child,  at  that  tender  age  and 
critical  period,  from  the  only  forming  influences  that  could 
reach  her  peculiar  need.  With  tremulous  tluinksgivings,  she 


288  THE  SIIADY  SIDE;   OR, 

was  again  encircled  in  parental  arms,  whose  fond  pressure  she 
warmly  returned.  Yet,  the  mother's  quick  eye  soon  read  the 
whole.  She  was  a  petted  child,  and  had  sadly  missed  the  nur 
ture  of  the  fold. 

Now  they  have  all  the  fledglings  in  the  nest.  There  is 
comfort  in  that ;  though  they  must  devise  expedients  to  protect, 
and  nourish,  and  train  them  there. 

We  have  somewhere  intimated  that  our  Mary  had  the  pen  of 
a  ready  writer.  One  evening,  as  she  was  diligently  mending  a 
coat,  which  was  Mr.  Vernon's  second-best,  —  taking  out  the 
facing  of  the  skirts  to  make  a  new  under  half  to  each  failing 
sleeve,  supplying  the  cloth  thus  surreptitiously  obtained,  with 
the  breadth  of  an  alpaca  dress,  —  her  thoughts,  with  their 
wonted  activity,  resolved  themselves  into  a  committee  of  ways 
and  means  for  the  future. 

Mabel  was  silently  knitting,  and  rocking  the  cradle  with  her 
foot,  —  for  Carrie,  though  fifteen  months  old,  was  a  baby  still, 
—  when  she  was  somewhat  abruptly  asked  the  question  if  she 
could  take  any  more  household  care  without  being  overtasked. 
Her  hearty  answer  was,  that  she  was  well  and  strong,  and  could 
carry  her  daily  work  into  the  evening,  if  needful ;  and  she  re 
spectfully  suggested,  if  Mrs.  Vernon  thought  it  would  help  to 
keep  boarders,  she  — 

"  No,  Mabel,  not  that.  I  have  thought  of  trying  to  write 
some  little  books  for  Sunday-school  children ;  but  then,  I  must 
leave  Rose  and  Carrie  more  to  you,  and  sometimes  give  up 
other  cares." 

"  As  to  the  house- work,  I  have  no  fears,"  said  Mabel ;  "  the 
children,  too,  I  could  have  in  the  kitchen  after  Mondays.  But, 
will  you  be  paid  for  it,  ma'am  ?" 

Mrs.  Vernon  replied  that  it  would  bring  in  something  ;  and 
every  little  now  would  help. 

This  arrangement  was  just  beginning  to  move  harmoniously, 
and  promise  well,  as  peremptory  orders  came  from  Millville  for 
Mabel's  immediate  return  to  factory-life,  where  she  could  earn 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  289 

two  dollars  a  week,  and  board.  This  time  there  is  no  escape. 
The  spirited  girl  is  roused  beyond  the  melting  mood.  Though 
her  benefactor?  speak  to  her  in  tones  more  gentle  and  sub 
dued  ;  though  the  children  surround  her  with  their  caresses 
and  lamentations,  she  leaves  with  dry  eyes,  and  a  burning 
cheek,  and  compressed  lips,  and  resolution  in  every  rigid  mus 
cle,  saying,  "  I  shall  be  of  age  soon,  and  free  to  yield  my  ser 
vice  where  I  owe  it.  Then,  if  the  Lord  spare  us,  nothing  shall 
keep  me  from  you." 

No  new  successor  fills  Mabel's  vacant  place.  Mrs.  Vcrnon 
resolves  to  get  through  the  spring  alone.  Allie  is  a  very  con- 
iderute  boy,  —  always  ready  to  help  his  mother.  Ellen  can 
look  after  the  baby  some;  and,  when  the  weather  is  warmer, 
amuse  her  in  the  garden-arbor,  or  on  the  soft,  green  sward, 
before  the  kitchen  window.  Rose — her  mother's  girl — let  her 
be  where  she  will,  is  never  in  the  way;  the  bright,  happy, 
musical  child,  whose  eye  scarce  sheds  a  tear  that  is  not  twin 
sister  to  a  smile. 

But  what  becomes  of  the  effort  at  authorship?  The  evenings 
are  getting  short,  and  the  name  of  household  cares  is  Legion. 
We  get  glimpses  now  of  the  patient  mistress  of  the  parsonage, 
toiling  by  day,  and  writing  by  night ;  tasking  and  multiplying 
herself,  as  it  were,  to  fill  the  various  offices,  that  need  each  a 
perfect  unit.  To  be  maid-of-all-work  in  the  kitchen,  and  re 
ceive  guests  in  the  parlor ;  to  lead  the  female  prayer-meeting 
weekly,  the  maternal  meeting  monthly  ;  preside  at  the  sewing- 
circle,  call  upon  the  sick,  and,  at  the  same  time,  ply  her  busy 
needle  to  make  and  mend  for  her  own  family ;  be  the  teachet 
of  her  own  children,  and  her  husband's  counsellor  and  com 
forter  ;  —  what  time  will  she  get  for  writing,  beyond  her  neces 
sary  correspondence  ?  Yet,  'mid  all  these  diverse  occupations, 
her  mind  holds  unbroken,  from  evening  to  evening,  the  thread 
of  a  simple  story,  which,  borne  on  the  printed  page,  shall  fall, 
like  healing  leaves,  in  many  a  household  group.  Days  and 
nights  of  not  a  moment's  leisure,  oft  intervene  to  suspend  its 


2JO  THE    SHADY    SIDil,     OR, 

progress ;  but  her  watchful  eye  seizes  the  first  opportunity. 
The  writing-case  is  opened,  and  the  single  lamp  placed  behind 
its  sheltering  lid,  to  screen  the  baby's  face ;  —  then  she  takes 
the  pen,  and,  with  one  foot  on  the  cradle,  plies  her  task ;  nor 
heeds  the  growing  lateness  of  the  hour,  so  long  as  Edward  is  qui 
etly  at  work  above.  It  is  late  ere  her  head  presses  the  pillow ; 
and  the  busy  brain,  not  obedient  to  the  will,  oft  resists  "  tired 
nature's  sweet  restorer,"  making  the  night's  repose  shorter  still. 
Ah !  they  who  read  the  touching  tale,  or  tender  counsel,  will 
never  know  what  night-vigils  wasted  the  strength,  and  helped 
cut  short  the  life,  of  her  who  breathed  her  own  sweet  spirit  into 
ihe  warm  lines  that  go  so  quick  to  the  heart. 

Pecuniary  remuneration  is  slow  and  scanty.  But,  when  it 
comes  after  a  six  months'  waiting,  —  first  a  ten  dollars,  and 
then  a  five,  and  another  ten,  —  how  precious  seems  the  treasure! 
How  conscientiously,  ay,  how  joyously,  is  one-tenth  cast  into 
the  Lord's  treasury,  with  tears  of  thanksgiving  for  the  ability 
such  as  the  rich  cannot  know  !  "  0  !  "  said  a  poor  widow,  "  if 
I  envy  the  rich,  it  is  only  for  their  ability  to  do  good ;  it  mitsi 
be  so  blessed  to  give" 

In  these  days,  we  find  passages  like  the  following,  in  the  lit 
tle  diary,  whose  entries  were  neither  full  nor  frequent 

"  April.  — It  is  not  without  some  misgivings, 

and  many  a  protest  from  Edward,  that  I  have  made  this  de 
cision  [to  dispense  with  domestic  help].  One  thing,  by  the 
grace  of  God,  I  resolve,  not  to  let  my  multiplied  cares  draw 
me  away  from  the  closet.  Only  there,  are  the  sources  of 
strength. 

"May. — Have  received  to-day,  a  note  signifying  the  ac 
ceptance  of  my  first  MS.  by  the  Sabbath  School  Union.  It 
has  been  my  prayer,  to-night,  that  the  Lord  would  accompany 
this  little  book  with  his  own  blessing,  to  thousands  of  young 
hearts,  long  after  the  hand  that  penned  it  is  cold  in  death. 

"  May  20th.  —  My  cares    the  last  few  weeks,  have  been 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  291 

numerous  and  trying.  Have  found  no  time  to  devote  to  my 
Journal,  though  I  have  enjoyed  many  precious  seasons  of  com 
munion  with  Heaven.  Am  somewhat  encouraged  to  find,  'mid 
engrossing  cares,  that  religious  affection  is  more  easily  kindled 
than  formerly.  While  my  hands  are  engaged  in  worldly  avoca 
tions,  my  desire  is  toward  the  Lord. 

"  Evening.  —  Feel  very  languid  in  body ;  - —  it  seems  as  if 
this  weary  tabernacle  were  too  weak  to  bear  the  tenant. 
Thought  is  most  active,  and  feeling  most  intense,  at  these 
seasons  of  physical  debility.  I  feel  like  a  weary  child,  long 
ing  to  recline  on  my  heavenly  Father's  bosom,  and  hide  beneath 
the  sh^Bow  of  his  wing.  '  So  he  giveth  his  beloved  sleep.' 

"  May  30//i.  —  Never  so  felt  the  need  of  wisdom  and  grace, 
to  be  an  help-meet  for  an  ambassador  of  Christ.  My  dear  hus 
band  is  struggling  with  discouragement.  He  received,  to-day, 
an  ungenerous  retort  from  Deacon  H.,  which  cut  him  to  the 
quick.  I  have  had  a  great  struggle  with  my  own  feelings. 
After  much  prayer  and  self-abasement,  I  can  at  last  think 
kindly  of  the  Christian  brother,  who  manifested  so  little  con 
sideration  and  sympathy  for  his  pastor.  0  !  how  little  under 
stood  is  the  crushing,  life-consuming  nature  of  a  minister's 
work !  Lord,  open  the  hearts  of  thine  own  children  to  a 
deeper  appreciation  of  these  things.  Make  us  gentle  and 
patient,  in  our  intercourse  with  unreasonable  men. 

"  If  I  know  my  own  heart,  I  would  merge  every  personal 
consideration  in  the  desire  to  aid  my  dear  husband  in  winning 
souls.  I  do  take  pleasure  in  denying  myself  for  this  end.  0, 
that  I  may  do  it  as  to  the  Lord ! 

"  June.  1st.  —  Edward  has  been  for  '  help,'  to-day.  Has  the 
promise  cf  a  young  Irish  girl  after  another  week.  I  have,  for 
days  past,  been  wholly  inadequate  to  the  demands  of  my  fam 
ily  ;  —  feel  that  relaxation  must  come  soon,  or  too  lute  to  save 
me  from  prostrating  sickness.  Physical  debility  interferes  sadly 
with  my  comfort  in  religious  duties.  If  I  read  ray  Bible,  my 
head  swims ;  when  I  close  my  eyes  in  prayer,  I  seem  to  be 


292  THE   SHADY    SIDE  ,    OR, 

mounting  to  the  ceiling ;  if  I  pray  aloud,  the  throbbing  of  my 
heart  makes  me  so  weary.  Even  desire  must  abate  its  intensity, 
or  so  fatigue  the  over-worn  powers  of  nature,  as  to  lose  ita 
sweetness.  Yet,  even  now,  there  flits  by  me  a  glimpse  of  that 
bright  land,  whose  inhabitant  shall  no  more  say,  '  I  am  sick ;' 
and  the  brief  vision  is  like  an  angel  strengthening  me.  0 ! 
for  thy  wings,  thou  dove  ! 

'No  more  fatigue,  no  more  distress, 
Nor  siu,  nor  death,  shall  reach  the  place  j 
No  groans  to  mingle  with  the  songs 
That  warble  from  immortal  tongues.'  " 

Soon  is  the  prediction  verified ;  the  overtasked  frame  refuses 
further  service ;  and  the  spheres,  so  faithfully  filled,  resign 
their  occupant.  A  nervous  fever  baffles,  for  many  days,  the 
skill  of  physicians.  Life  at  the  parsonage  wears  a  new  aspect. 
The  large,  untidy  Hibernian  effects  an  entire  metamorphosis  of 
kitchen  and  pantry.  Had  the  walls  a  tongue,  they  would  cry 
out  against  such  treatment.  Strange  faces  meet  us  in  the  old 
familiar  places,  where  we  miss  the  well-known  footstep  with 
which  the  soft  echoes  always  kept  time.  Sweet  Julia  Rogers 
is  providentially  there,  devoting  herself,  with  experienced  tact, 
to  the  little  flock,  deprived  of  a  mother's  care.  We  may  catch 
many  a  glimpse  of  her,  strolling  up  the  stream  with  her  charge, 
or  telling  them  stories  in  the  arbor,  or  gathering  pinks  and 
roses  in  a  nosegay  for  mama. 

By  the  sick-bed,  over  which  the  angel  of  the  covenant  fans 
h*is  win?  soft  as  the  breath  of  the  June  roses  that  wreathe  the 

O 

open  window,  ministers,  in  turn,  many  a  precious  friend.  Lit 
tle  Lucy  Merton  is  there  twice  a  week,  with  her  finger  on  her 
lip,  lest  she  forget  that  her  dear  elder  sister  must  not  be  wor 
ried  with  questions.  Once  and  again  has  the  sufferer's  head 
been  pillowed  on  Mrs.  Catlin's  bosom.  Sister  Ellen  has  watched 
a  day  and  a  night  there,  in  her  silk  dressing-gown,  and  carried 
her  namesake  back  to  her  city  home.  Kind  neighbors  have 
come  in  to  aid;  and  some  whose  active  sympathy  was  not 


LIFE   IX   A    CGCXTRY    PAKSONAQK.  2yd 

expected,  have  laid  the  pastor  under  a  lasting  debt  of  gratitude. 
Mrs  Plympton  left  her  work  to  call  once  at  the  parsonage. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Catlin  were  entering  as  she  left,  and  she  paused 
to  speak  with  him,  —  the  minister  of  her  native  parish.  "  She 
thought  when  she  saw  Miss  Vernon  undertaking  so  much,  this 
would  be  the  end  on't.  Ministers'  wives,  in  these  days,  have  n't 
much  strength  of  constitution." 

"That  is  a  sensible,  good  woman,"  said  Mr.  Vernon,  after 
ward  ;  "  but  she  wants  something.  What  is  it,  brother 
Catlin  ?  " 

"  Poor  health,  and  six  children,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

Many  prayers  have  ascended  from  the  sick  room,  and  some 
praises  too ;  and  there  has  been  agonizing  supplication  in  the 
room  above  —  the  pastor's  study.  Over,  too,  by  the  mountain- 
Bide,  in  widow  Johnson's  lowly  cot,  there  has  been  earnest 
wrestling  with  God,  to  spare  a  life  more  precious  than  her  own. 
The  little  crippled  boy,  whose  in-door  solitude  has  been  oft 
relieved  by  a  book  from  the  minister's  wife,  comes  ever  and 
anon  to  ask  if  she  is  better,  and  to  bring  a  trout  that  he  has, 
by  long  patience,  coaxed  upon  his  hook.  Letters  from  the 
dear  Mayfield  home  are  read,  in  whispered  tones,  by  the  inva 
lid's  pillow.  This  is  Allie's  privilege,  the  gentle  boy,  between 
whom  and  his  mother  there  is  the  nicest  sympathy. 

"\Vith  all  these  alleviations,  there-have  been  much  exquisite 
suffering,  and  a  silent  dispensing  with  many  comforts  that 
money  might  have  purchased ;  and  an  occasional  relapse  for 
want  of  attention,  when  Edward  must  take  rest  to  be  ready  for 
the  pulpit.  And  though  the  stroke,  which  many  feared,  is  once 
more  mercifully  averted,  the  return  to  health  is  slow  and  inter 
rupted.  Yet,  how  happy  is  the  family  group  in  its  restored 
tn>:i<iire,  though  the  dear  one  moves  but  feebly  in  her  accus 
tomed  place  !  ^Vhat  an  atmosphere  of  odorous  graces  fills  the 
dwelling ! 

Still,  the  blood  comes  lazily  to  the  cheek,  and  the  step  regains 
not  its  wonted  elasticity.      Dr.  Reed  is  again  consulted,  and 
25* 


294  THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OK, 

earnestly  advises  change  of  air,  —  a  sea- voyage,  or  an  easy  jour 
ney,  with  freedom  from  care.  An  easy  prescription  to  make , 
an  impracticable  one  to  follow.  Whence  shall  come  the  means 
for  such  a  pursuit  of  health  ?  How  make  provision  for  the 
duties  of  the  wife  and  mother,  accruing  daily,  and  swelled  by 
long  arrears  ?  Does  any  say,  "  How  easily  a  purse  might  be 
made  up  among  the  people  ?  "  Ah  !  my  innocent  friend,  this 
might  be  done  in  a  poor  parish,  where  money  must  be  spared 
at  personal  sacrifice  and  privation ;  but  expect  not  this  of  an 
able  people,  that  have  let  their  minister  labor  for  them  six  years 
at  his  own  charges. 

Is  it  strange  that  the  sensitive  man,  who  would  have  given 
his  own  life  to  save  the  mother  of  his  babes,  dwells,  with  some 
bitterness  of  feeling,  on  the  causes  of  his  inability  to  employ  a 
remedy  that  may  restore  bloom  to  the  faded  cheek,  and  vigor 
to  the  trembling  nerves  ?  Was  it  easy  to  give  the  hand  warmly 
to  his  people  ?  —  to  talk,  and  pray,  and  preach  with  whole 
hearted  freedom,  under  the  vivid  consciousness  that  their  with 
holding  of  his  lawful  dues  made  his  dwelling  the  abode  of 
penury,  and  was  wearing  out  his  beloved  companion  in  her 
prime  ? 

Tt  was  not  easy  ;  yet,  by  God's  grace,  it  must  be  done.  The 
heart-burning  must  be  repented  of,  and  put  away.  Ah  !  how 
often  would  it  return  !  Put  it  to  your  own  case,  ye  men  of 
loving  hearts  and  ample  means,  who  exhaust  all  remedies  when 
a  beloved  wife  or  daughter  —  your  heart's  best  treasure  —  seems 
about  to  be  snatched  from  your  embrace  ! 

But  resignation  was  at  last  attained,  and  afterward  God  sent 
relief  and  hope.  Dr.  Allison  came  for  Mary,  —  a  two  days' 
journey  in  his  family  carriage,  —  and  took  her  home ;  while 
Hester  Allen  —  "  the  crusty  old  maid,"  as  she  was  called  by 
many  —  took  her  dress-making  to  the  parsonage,  and  volun 
teered  gratuitous  care  and  oversight,  in  the  mother's  absence. 

Turning  now  to  Mary's  Journal,  we  find  the  following 
entry  : 


LIFE   IN   A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  295 

u Once   more   in    the   dear   home   of  my  childhood. 

Sweet  and  tender  are  the  associations  that  cluster  around  me 
here  at  even-tide,  —  the  evening  of  the  precious  Sabbath.  Have 
enjoyed,  of  late,  unusual  freedom  in  religious  exercises;  —  known 
more  of  the  meaning  of  that  expression,  '  liberty  of  the  sons  of 
God.'  0,  to  be  so  united  with  Christ,  that  the  currents  of 
spiritual  life  shall  flow  through  my  soul,  warm  and  free  from 
their  source  ! 

"  How  freshly,  to-night,  does  the*  view  from  my  window  recall 
to  mind  my  early  days,  when  this  precious  spot  was  the  centre 
of  my  earthly  affections  and  hopes !  I  seem  to  forget  the  respon 
sibilities  of  my  own  household,  and  to  be  a  child  again,  nestling 
under  the  protecting  wing  where  I  felt  so  safe  during  all  the 
bright,  peaceful  days  of  my  girlhood.  But,  the  vision  will 
not  stay,  —  it  is  of  the  past,  the  returidess  past.  It  can  seem 
present  only  as  I  dream,  or  as  memory  and  fancy  hold  me  under 
their  spell.  And  do  I  send  a  regretful  thought  after  the  ease 
and  light-heartedness  of  those  happy  days  ?  It  is  a  momentary 
weakness.  Life  was  meant  for  toil,  and  the  more  severe  the 
labor,  the  siveeter  will  be  the  rest ;  the  more  exhausting  the 
care,  the  nearer  the  repose.  Welcome  conflicts,  then  —  wel 
come  toils  —  welcome  trials  !  —  so  that  my  God  but  give  me 
grace  to  endure  unto  the  end. 

•  " Am  still  weak  in  body ;  my  heart  tender  and  sub 
dued.  It  seem?,  at  times,  that  I  could,  with  but  a  short  strug 
gle,  give  up  all  earthly  endearments,  and  stretch  forth  my  arma 
to  the  heavenly  rest.  Have  had  a  long,  sweet  talk  with  dear 
father  in  the  library.  I  stood  before  the  window,  leaning 
against  the  sash,  as  I  have  done,  0  so  often,  in  my  girlhood  ! 
He  came  in  and  laid  his  hand  tenderly  on  my  head,  and  gazed 
with  me  at  the  golden  clouds,  behind  which  the  sun  had  just 
gone  down  ;  then,  kissing  my  forehead,  said,  '  O,  my  daughter, 
I  begin  to  know  something  of  the  spirit's  longings  for  that  bet 
ter  land  ! '  He  went  out,  and  I  covered  my  face  and  wept  ;  — 


296  THE   SHADY    SIDi;  J    OK, 

wept  partly  for  joy,  that  the  things  above  were  so  sweetly  draw 
ing  him  Upward  to  their  embrace. 

"  When  afflicted,  tempest-tossed,  distressed,  it  is  not  much  to 
choose  death  rather  than  life ;  but,  in  the  midst  of  health,  and 
friends,  and  worldly  comforts,  to  turn,  as  it  were,  instinctively 
away,  and  desire  to  be  with  Christ,  as  something  far  better , 
this,  this,  must  give  assurance  of  -heirship  and  union  with  him, 
not  to  be  mistaken. 

" Take  my  pen  once  more  to  record  a  precious  inter 

view  with  my  dear,  good  papa.  He  has  reviewed,  with  me,  all 
the  way  in  which  the  Lord  hath  led  me  from  my  youth  till  now. 
It  began  by  my  speaking  with  some  enthusiasm  of  my  Salem 
home.  '  0  ! '  said  he,  '  I  reckon  you  are  always  looking  back  to 
Salem,  as  the  Hebrews  did  to  the  leeks  and  onions  of  Egypt. 
Do  you  not  know  that  "  distance  lends  enchantment  to  the 
view  ?  M  You  had  your  trials  there.  The  roses  were  not  with 
out  their  thorns,  and  you  would  have  felt  the  pricks  more, 
the  more  closely  you  had  hugged  them  —  the  longer  you  had 
stayed.' 

."From  this  playful  beginning,  we  went  over  the  whole 
ground  together.  Our  trials  at  Millville ;  our  poor  remuner 
ation  at  Olney  ;  our  loss  of  dear  ones  ;  our  sicknesses  and  sor 
rows.  He  spoke  of  God's  design  in  these  dealings  ;  raised  me 
above  human  agencies,  and  bade  me  overlook  the  injustice  of* 
fellow-men,  in  gratitudeUo  God  for  needed  correction,  which 
had  been  so  evidently  blessed  to  our  growing  piety  and  useful 
ness.  (Ah-!  he  does  not  see  how  our  poor  hearts,  even  now, 
sometimes  rebel !)  '  God,'  said  he,  '  has  been  drawing  -you 
nearer  to  himself,  by  putting  you  into  the  furnace.'  Then  he 
encouraged  me  so  sweetly,  by  showing  that  I  had  been  instru 
mental  of  good  in  more  ways  than  I  had  hitherto  thought  of. 
(0,  if  it  may  be  so,  how  little  seem  the  hardships  !)  He  said 
he  did  not  regret  giving  me  away  to  Mr.  Yernon.  I  had  been 
just  the  woman  for  him.  (My  tears  fell  fast  at  this.)  '  And 
now,'  continued  he,  '  your  sphere  of  usefulness  is  widening,  iu 


LIFE   IN    A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  297 

your  own  family,  and  in  the  larger  circle  of  your  influence,  ami 
God  is  qualifying  you  more  and  more  for  your  work  ;  and 
though  my  heart  sometimes,  in  view  of  your  griefs,  cries, 
"  Spare  my  idols."  yet,  oftener,  I  can  trust  the  hand  that  b 
leading  you,  as  one  more  intelligently  and  tenderly  considerate 
of  your  good  than  the  fondest  earthly  parent.  You  will  have 
strength  for  your  day,  and  leave  a  memorial  behind  you  in 
many  hearts.'  Afterwards,  we  talked  cheerfully  of  little  Alby 
and  of  other  dear  ones  whom  God  has  taken ;  and  I  shall  never 
forget  the  emphasis  with  which  he  said,  '  Soon,  my  daughter, 
if  we  live,  the  best,  the  larger  part  of  our  earthly  treasures 
will  have  been  transferred  to  that  upper  home ;  then,  when 
there  will  be  such  precious  human  ties  to  draw  us  thitherward, 
how  will  our  hearts  abide  on  high  ! ' 

"  I  little  thought  of  writing  so  much,  and  yet  I  have  done 
no  justice  to  the  conversation.  I  must  leave  now,  and  pack 
my  trunk  for  the  morrow's  journey.  How  my  heart  leaps  at 
the  thought  of  returning  to  my  dear  husband  and  children  ! 
The  Lord  still  watch  between  them  and  me,  while  absent  from 
each  other." 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

"  I  can  easier  teach  twenty  what  were  good  to  be  done,  than  be  one  of 
the  twenty  to  follow  mine  own  teaching." 

"  Who  comforteth  us  in  all  our  tribulation,  that  we  may  be  able  to  ooin- 
fort  them  which  are  in  any  trouble,  by  the  comfort  wherewith  we  ourselves 
are  comforted  of  God." 

"  Patience  and  sorrow  strive 
Which  shall  express  her  goodliest." 

HAPPY  in  the  return  of  his  beloved,  with  increasing  strength, 
and  something  of  the  old  buoyancy  of  spirit,  Mr.  Vernon  again 
finds  his  work  easier,  and  his  heart  lighter.  But  the  current 


298  THE    BHADY    SIDE  J     OR, 

of  time  is  setting  fast  toward  the  annual  rapids,  whose  whirl 
will  be  stronger,  and  vortex  deeper,  this  year,  than  ever  before. 
He  always  expects  to  have  "  the  blues "  at  pay-day.  These 
yearly  settlements  are  bad  places  to  get  by.  He  must  then 
look  the  fact  of  insufficient  support  full  in  the  face.  The  past 
year,  with  all  their  frugality,  has  brought  some  heavy  extra 
expenses.  He  has  incurred  for  himself  a  dentist's  bill  of  fifteen 
dollars ;  and  Dr.  Reed's  account,  during  Mary's  long  illnes?, 
ran  up  to  twenty.  The  skilful  doctor  had  an  extensive  practice, 
yet  he  did  not  hold,  with  the  large  number  of  benevolent  men 
in  his  profession,  that  it  was  no  loss  to  attend  gratuitously  upon* 
the  poor  pastor's  family. 

The  kitchen,  with  Irish  "  help,"  missed  Mabel's  frugal  man 
agement,  especially  when  the  mistress  of  the  house  was  laid 
aside.  A  new  overcoat,  too,  has  lately  been  added  to  the  min 
ister's  slender  wardrobe  ;  and  the  price  of  bread-stufis  has  risen 
materially  the  last  ten  months. 

The  pastor  has  a  hidden,  suppressed  consciousness  of  these 
things,  that  makes  him  dread  the  day  of  settlement,  though  his 
purse  has  been  empty  these  many  weeks.  But  on  it  comes, 
bringing  a  season  of  extra  professional  cares,  enough  to  bar  out 
anything  less  strong  than  the  besieger  that  gnaws  through  stone 
walls. 

It  is  the  first  week  in  the  year.  He  has  a  preparatory  lecture 
for  Friday,  a  sacramental  discourse  for  Sabbath  morning,  and 
a  New-Year's  sermon  for  the  second  service,  —  to  say  nothing 
of  the  monthly  concert,  —  all  to  be  brought  fresh  from  the  mint, 
during  the  week,  whose  first  secular  day  begins  the  year.  His 
work  is  before  him  ;  and  he  selects  his  themes  Sabbath  even 
ing.  Let  us  follow  him  through  the  week,  for  though  the 
scenes  enacted  are  no  new  thing  at  the  Olney  parsonage,  —  nor, 
peradventure,  at  many  another,  —  they  may  have  the  interest 
of  novelty  to  some  of  our  readers. 

Monday,  we  said,  was  New-Year's  day.  The  minister's  sal 
ary  is  promptly  paid.  He  spends  the  morning  in  looking  over 


LIFK   IN   A    COUNTRY    PAKSONAdE.  299 

his  bills  ;  and,  after  settling  all  within  walking  distance  of  his 
dwelling,  sits  him  down  at  evening  to  commence  his  new-year's 
sermon.  The  text  written,  he  holds  his  pen  a  half  hour  over 
the  unsoiled  page,  till  a  deep  sigh  breaks  his  reverie,  and  he 
becomes  aware  that  he  has  been  devising  expedients  to  meet  the 
claims  which  he  foresees  will  exceed  the  money  in  hand.  This 
•will  not  do.  He  again  reads  his  text,  and  glances  over  his  plan, 
yet  is  soon  lost  in  a  more  troublous  vision  than  before.  He 
now  flings  aside  the  pen,  and  goes  below.  The  little  ones  have 
been  snugly  pillowed,  and  Allie  is  learning  his  morrow's  lesson 
at  the  same  table  where  his  mother  is  writing  to  her  Nellie. 
The  boy  is  sent  up  to  the  study,  while  Mr.  Vernon  consults 
with  Mary  about  selling  the  carriage,  her  father's  gift.  The 
keeper  of  the  livery-stable  has  once  inquired  after  it,  and  would 
probably  take  it,  if  sold  at  a  sacrifice.  It  will  cover  the  ac 
count  for  horse-hire,  which  has  been  more  than  was  anticipated ; 
though  the  pastor  has  walked  many  a  distance  when  poor'y 
able,  and  his  wife  forbore,  for  the  same  reason,  to  ride,  when 
her  delicate  health  required  the  exercise. 

But  did  not  their  Christian  neighbors  own  such  a  useful  ani- 
nuil  as  the  horse  ?  A  dozen  of  them,  at  least,  within  half  a 
mile ;  yet  no  one  of  them,  except  the  straitened  Mr.  Rogers, 
ever  offered  to  the  pastor  a  word  of  sympathy,  upon  the  sale  of 
Pompey,  or  said,  "  Take  my  horse,  occasionally,  and  welcome, 
when  you  wish  to  ride."  It  was  whispered,  indeed,  that  then? 
was  some  secret  murmuring,  —  that  the  minister  patronized 
a  livery  stable  when  his  own  people  had  horses  to  let !  (0  ! 
milk  of  human  kindness,  what  has  dried  thee  up  ?)  But  this 
digression  is  not  to  our  purpose.  Mary  consents  to  part  with 
the  carriage,  and  Edward  spends  the  rest  of  the  evening  in 
negotiating  its  sale  for  forty  dollars. 

Tuesday  he  goes  to  8.,  the  laige  market- town,  to  make  his 
animal  payments  tK-re.  Mary  attends  the  sewing  society, 
occupied  just  now  in  fitting  out  a  box  of  clothing  for  a  mission 
ary  station.  Mrs.  Deacon  Hyde  was  quite  active.  Ska  thinks 


300  THE   SHADY    SIDE,    OR, 

we  might  fill  a  large  box,  as  almost  every  one  lias  some  article 
of  dress  laid  by,  that  is  of  no  use  to  themselves.  "  0  !  "  said 
Hester  Allen,  in  her  impertinent  way,  "  that 's  the  rule,  is  it, 
Mrs.  Hyde,  to  give  what  you  don't  want  and  can't  use  your 
self?  From  our  minister's  last  missionary  sermon,  it  appears 
he  thinks  there  is  not  much  virtue  in  giving,  unless  it  costs  us 
some  self-denial.  Do  you  remember  the  way  he  said,  '  Give, 
till  you  fed  it?'  " 

Mrs.  Hyde  reddened.  Her  memory  needed  no  refreshing. 
Mrs.  Vernon  looked  deprecatingly  at  the  dressmaker,  and  the 
topic  was  dropped.  Presently  little  Susan  Brown  whispered, 
"  Hester,  how  could  you  speak  so  plain  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  said  she.  "  Last  fall  I  was  sewing  at*  the 
deacon's,  when  Mrs.  Vernon's  girl  came  in  for  a  pint  of  milk, 
saying  their  cow  had  strayed  from  pasture,  and  they  had  none 
for  tea.  -  That  woman  measured  the  pint  of  milk,  and  took 
two  cents  !  —  then  gave  the  girl  a  small  bit  of  liver  to  carry 
home,  saying, '  We  have  more  than  we  can  use  ourselves.'  And 
I  could  fell  you  meaner  things  than  that."  Well,  well,  Hes 
ter,  it  is  not  best.  We  would  rather  have  you  draw  a  veil  over 
them.  Bat  you  may  say  to  the  ladies  what  is  in  your  heart, 
after  Mrs.  Vernon  goes  home.  Ay,  that  she  will,  without 
anybody's  leave ;  and  the  substance  of  it  is  this :  that  it  is 
well  to  work  and  send  comforts  to  the  ambassadors  of  Christ  in 
foreign  lands;  but  rather  inconsistent  in  a  people  who  do 
nothing  for  their  own  minister,  when  he  is  more  needy  than 
the  one  they  are  aiding  abroad. 

"  But,"  said  Mrs.  Eaton,  "  we  would  not  like  to  offer  Mrs 
Vernon  such  gifts  as  many  of  these." 

"  Some  of  them,  I  guess,  Mrs.  Vernon  would  find  use  for. 
As  for  half  this  trumpery  I  don't  suppose  it 's  worth  the 
freight,"  was  Hester's  sharp  retort 

"  We  don't  know  much  about  poor  people  in  Olney,"  said 
the  quiet  Mrs.  Rogers.  "  I  often  think  there  are  not  cases 
enough  to  keep  our  compassion  alive,  as  a  community." 


LIFE   IN    A  COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  301 

"  That 's  true,"  said  Hester ;  "  but  as  to  Mr.  Vernon  E  fam 
ily,  nobody  thinks  they  're  poor.  If  they  had  half  the  lights 
of  their  windows  stuffed  with  old  hats,  ;md  their  children  -were 
ragged  and  dirty,  they  would  get  credit  for  poverty.  It 's  Mrs, 
Vernon's  misfortune  that  she  can  make  a  little  go  so  far,  and 
keep  up  so  good  an  appearance.  She  will  mend  by  a  thread 
so  as  to  hide  the  seam,  and  as  long  as  a  garment  holds  together 
it  is  tidy  and  becoming." 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Briggs,  "  /  can  hardly  afford  a  vcl'/et 
bonnet  and  silk  coat." 

"  There  it  is  again  !  "  said  Hester,  impatiently ;  "  you  never 
have  been  told,  I  suppose,  that  the  velvet  was  an  old  bonnet  of 
her  sister-in-law's,  worn  two  seasons,  which  she  altered  hc;self ; 
and  the  coat  I  helped  her  make,  when  she  came  back  from  May- 
field,  out  of  an  old  dress  she  had  before  her  marriage ;  and  if 
we  did  n't  turn,  and  take  out,  and  set  in,  and  darn,  till  1 
thought  I  could  earn  a  new  one  in  the  time !  But,  doubtless 
it  was  great  extravagance.  If  Mrs.  Vernon  was  slovenly, 
or  had  as  little  sconce  about  dressing,  as  some  folks,  I  guess 
you  'd  see  their  poverty  fast  enough.  The  fact  is,  we  are  starv 
ing  them  out,  and  1  hope  they  '11  go  where  they  can  be  sun- 
ported.  With  all  her  knack,  she  can't  make  things  out  ot 
nothing,  and  it  is  fast  coming  to  that." 

"  I  could  n't  but  think  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Rogers,  "  when  she 
came  in  this  afternoon,  looking  so  feeble,  and  I  knew  she  had 
left  so  much  to  do  at  home  ;  and  she  sat  down  here,  and  con 
trived,  and  worked  so  patiently,  for  that  way-off  Mr.  Somebody. 
I  declare,  it  went  to  my  heart." 

"She  has  never  got  over  that  fit  of  sickness,"  said  Mrs. 
Plympton. 

"  And  never  will !  "  said  Hester,  with  such  startling  em 
phasis  that  no  one  spoke  again  for  ten  minutes.  But  all  this 
is  l>y  the  by. 

Let  us  follow  Mary  home,  where  she  arrived  in  season  to 
prepare  a  warm  supper  against  Edward's  return.  She  heaves  a 


302  THE    SHADY    SIDE  J    OE, 

Bigh,  as  she  finds  herself  listening  involuntarily  for  Pompey'a 
step.  Has  that  sigh  a  little  sharpness,  pointed  by  half  a  mur 
mur  ?  It  were  not  strange  ;  she  is  not  yet  perfect. 

It  is  late  ere  the  traveller,  warmed  and  fed,  opens  bis  pack 
ages  from  "  town."  Mary  longs  to  ask,  "  How  are  we  coming 
out,  this  year?" — but  oft  as  the  question  rises  to  her  lips,  some 
thing  checks  its  utterance.  At  last,  with  an  equivocal  smile, 
the  largest  package  is  unbound,  with  the  exclamation,  "  See !  I 
have  bought  some  books." 

"  You  were  able  to  pay  off,  then  ?  "  said  she,  inquiringly. 

"  All  we  owe  there,"  was  the  reply,  with  forced  calmness ; 
"  but  our  house-rent  is  still  unpaid,  and  there  is  not  a  cent  left, 
—  nothing  for  a  new-year's  toy  for  the  baby." 

"  How  happened  this  purchase  of  books,  then  ?  " 

"  I  have  long  been  famishing  for  them,  Mary,  and  I  have 
run  in  debt  for  food.  My  intellect  will  not  submit  to  starva 
tion.  And,  here  are  some  for  you." 

«  0,  Edward  !  " 

"  I  thought  it  all  over ;  and  it  seemed  of  no  use  to  tr/  to 
live.  We  cannot,  with  all  our  economy ;  and  I  resolved  no 
longer  to  deny  myself  these  books,  so  needful  in  my  profession. 
I  wonder  half  the  ministers  do  not  plunge  into  debt,  reckless 
of  consequences." 

"  You  will  feel  differently,  my  dear,  another  day.  You  are 
tired  and  sad,"  said  Mary ;  and  her  heart  ached,  O,  so  hard  ! 
Yet  she  interested  herself  in  the  books,  and  even  thanked  him 
for  being  so  thoughtful  of  her,  in  the  selection ;  while  she 
inwardly  resolved  that  hers  should  be  carefully  laid  aside,  to  be 
returned  the  first  opportunity. 

After  a  night  of  tossings  to  and  fro,  unto  the  dawning  of  the 
day,  the  minister  kindled  an  early  fire  in  his  study,  and  ad 
dressed  himself  once  more  to  the  work  of  preparation  for  the 
Sabbath.  But  his  soul  was  still  the  abode  of  tumultuous 
thoughts,  which  neither  his  chapter  in  the  Greek  Testament,  nor 
his  morning  prayer  in  the  closet,  availed  to  quell.  If,  favored 


LIFE   IN    A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  303 

with  an  idea  upon  his  theme,  he  dipped  his  pen  to  write,  thero 
stalked  between  him  and  the  paper  the  pressing  query,  M  What 
will  you  do  about  the  house-rent?"  Whereupon  followed 
burning  cogitations,  till  his  soul  waxed  hot,  and  he  was  driven, 
alarmed,  to  his  knees  for  help.  So  fared  it  all  that  day.  At 
night-full  he  had  only  completed  the  introduction  of  his  dis 
course,  while  his  table  was  strown  with  many  leaves  of  abortive 
effort.  He  must  do  something  to  free  his  mind  before  evening. 
After  tea,  he  steps  down  the  street  to  the  treasurer  of  the  Par 
sonage  Company,  with  a  statement  of  the  circumstances,  and 
asks  if  the  rent  can  lie  along ;  —  is  coolly  told  that  the  stock 
holders  will  expect  their  dividend.  Not  a  word  of  sympathy 
—  not  an  offer  of  private  assistance  —  from  Mr.  Briggs.  The 
money  is  borrowed  of  Esquire  Eaton,  and  by  seven  o'clock  the 
pastor  is  again  in  his  study.  But  Satan  went  also,  and  stood 
up  to  tempt  him.  He  thought  of  everything  that  went  to 
aggravate  his  relations  to  the  people.  There  rose  to  .his  view, 
not  "  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  and  the  glory  of  them," 
but  all  his  trials  and  the  sharpness  of  them,  till  his  brain 
seemed  on  fire,  and  he  came  down  to  Mary  to  unburden  his 
heart.  "  O  !  "  said  he,  "  how  can  I  do  anything  heartily  for 
such  a  people  ?  I  could  go  to  Caffraria  and  preach  the  Gospel 
to  the  poor  Hottentots,  and  feel  happy  in  privations.  But  here 
they  profess  to  appreciate  the  Gospel,  and  to  reward  a  minister 
for  his  services,  —  while  they  do  neither. 

"  I  could  go  into  a  community  where  the  wealth  was  in  the 
hands  of  wicked  men,  and,  with  a  few  to  stand  by  me,  set  up 
our  banner  in  the  name  of  the  Lord,  and  live  on  bread  and 
water,  till  the  Gospel  should  win  its  victories  from  the  ranks 
of  the  ungodly,  and  be  able  to  support  itself.  But  here,  where 
the  Lord's  stewards  have  the  means,  yet  leave  his  ambassador 
to  suffer,  all  the  sense  of  justice  and  honor  within  me  rises  up 
in  revolt.  Men  of  five,  ten  and  twenty  thousand  dollars, 
adding  to  their  capital  yearly,  and  paying  for  their  religious 
privileges  four  or  five  dollars  a  year  !  and,  for  the  world's  salva- 


304  THE   SHADY   SIDE;    OB, 

tion,  the  most  liberal  of  them  no  more  than  another  five  !  —  and 
not  willing  to  do  more,  when  they  know  this  does  not  make  the 
Gospel  laborer  and  his  family  comfortable !  To  say  nothing 
of  the  morality  of  the  thing,  have  I  not  reason  to  doubt  the 
affection  of  such  a  people  ?  It  would  be  less  intolerable,  if 
they  seemed  to  appreciate  what  I  do  for  them ;  or,  if  they 
would  take  hold  of  the  work  themselves  and  help." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Mary,  "  if  they  were  to  do  that,  they  would 
soon  provide  liberally  in  temporal  things.  But  you  must  not 
forget,  Edward,  the  few  who  are  helping  by  their  prayers  and 
godly  example,  —  some  precious  sisters,  at  least." 

"  0  !  "  replied  he,  "  my  heart  yearns  for  the  fellowship  of 
those  first  days  in  the  ministry.  With  one  such  man  here  as 
Deacon  Ely,  —  his  heart  beating  with  mine,  his  shoulder 
braced  to  my  own,  considering  the  work  his  as  truly  as  the 
pastor's,  —  I  could  rise  above  poverty,  or  the  opposition  of  the 
world.  The  want  of  sympathy  and  cooperation  from  Christian 
men,  kills  me.  These  things  ought  to  excite  a  righteous  indig 
nation,  such  as  Jesus  felt  when  he  made  the  scourge  in  the 
temple.  I  confess  I  feel  more  than  that.  Ministers  have 
their  lower  nature,  as  well  as  others.  The  old  Adam  in  me 
takes  advantage  of  this  provocation  to  strive  for  the  mastery. 
0  !  it  is  no  light  thing  for  a  people  to  be  the  cause  of  such 
suffering  as  I  have  endured  this  week ;  and  it  is  not  the  first, 
or  the  second  time,  either,  ooly  I  believe  I  have  not  known 
before  the  «  depths  of  Satan.'  " 

He  was  calmer  now,  and  Mary  began  to  insinuate  words  that 
might   soothe   and   elevate.     "  God  permits   these   afflictions 
There  is  no  doubt  but  that  his  design  is  wise  and  merciful 
Let  us  look  simply  at  his  hand,  above  proximate  agencies.    Let 
the  instrument  go  unheeded,  while  we  receive  the  evil  meekly 
from  him,  and  strive  to  apprehend  his  gracious  intent  in  the 
correction.     It  is  no  small  attainment  to  be  prepared  to  be  a 
sympathizing  pastor.     To  this  end,  personal  acquaintance  with 


LIFB   IN   A   COUXTRT   PARSON AQJI.  805 

grief  is  almost  indispensable.  Even  the  Captain  of  our  salva 
tion  was  made  perfect  through  suffering. 

"  As  to  appreciation  and  sympathy,  we  do  not  depend  for  theso 
on  fellow-worms.  We  can  be  content  to  be  unappreciated  here, 
so  long  as  Christ  understands  us,  and  has  a  fellow-feeling  for 
us.  It  is  for  him  we  labor.  One  smile  of  his  outweighs  all 
other  commendation.  To  him  we  look  for  our  reward ;  and  0  ! 
is  it  not  enough  that  he  has  promised  it,  at  his  coming  ?  It 
will  not  be  long  to  wait.  Do  our  hearts  crave  human  fellow 
ship  and  sympathy  ?  We  surely  have  it,  in  our  great  High 
Priest.  0,  how  often  should  we  faint,  but  for  the  humanity 
of  our  divine  Redeemer !  He  is  bone  of  our  bone,  and  flesh  of 
our  flesh ;  yet  he  has  an  almighty  arm  for  our  deliverance ;  — 
human  to  feel,  divine  to  aid  ;  faithful  over  all  our  failures  and 
imperfections.  What  need  we  more  ?  0,  that  tempted,  de 
sponding  ministers  would  take  to  themselves  the  comfort  of  those 
precious  things  they  say  to  others  !  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  pastor,  "  it  is  far  easier  to  show  others  the 
way  than  to  walk  in  it  ourselves.  While  you  are  talking,  Mary, 
I  really  seem  to  get  above  the  darkness  and  clouds,  into  the 
serene  light  of  the  upper  presence.  But,  alas  !  I  have  no  wings 
to  keep  me  up ;  and  I  sink,  sink,  into  deep  mire,  where  is  no 
standing.  God  could  carry  us  through  the  needful  discipline 
of  trial,  without  the  aid  of  his  people's  injustice.  This  is  the 
'  unkindest  cut  of  all,'  that  we  are  bound  to  Jhe  rack,  and  tor 
tured  there  by  those  that  smile  upon  us,  all  unconscious  of  the 
wrong,  and  call  themselves  our  brethren,  and  profess  to  be 
laboring  in  a  common  cause,  and  take  the  credit  of  paying  us 
for  our  toil.  Here  is  the  sting." 

"  Yet  there  is  balm  even  for  that,"  said  the  gentle  wife. 

"  0,  that  I  could  find  it ! "  sighed  he  of  the  wounded  spirit. 
"  You  have  the  same  cause  for  bitterness,  Mary.  How  do  you 
get  around  it  ?  " 

She  smiled,  and  said,  "  What  panacea  do  you  suppose  I  have 
that  is  not  accessible  to  you  ?  There  are,  I  believe,  several 
26* 


806  THE   SHADY   SIDE  ,    OR, 

trays  to  cure  this  heart-burning.  When  one  will  not  avail,  I 
try  another.  Sometimes  I  reason  with  myself  after  this 
fashion :  '  You  believe  Deacon  Hyde  is  a  good  man,  in  the 
main,  —  that,  with  all  his  selfishness,  he  has  some  grace,  and  is 
going  to  heaven.  Well,  be  patient  with  him  then,  —  Jesus  has 
longer  forbearance  with  you,  —  and  love  him  for  what  he  witt 
be,  when  we  all  awake  in  Jesus'  likeness.  Anticipate  the  day, 
but  just  before  us,  when  the  scales  shall  fall  from  his  eyes,  and 
his  soul  be  expanded  in  the  atmosphere  of  that  better  world. 
Who  knows  but  you  and  he  will  look  back  together  on  these 
very  scenes,  —  he  with  astonishment  and  tender  reprisals ;  you 
with  a  better  knowledge,  forbidding  his  self-reproach,  as  did 
Joseph  that  of  his  brethren,  in  joy  and  gratitude,  at  the  good  a 
gracious  God  brought  out  of  the  evil  ?  '  " 

"  0,  my  dear,  how  you  shame  me  !  I  will  try,  by  God's 
grace,  to  do  better."  So  they  knelt,  there,  in  prayer ;  and,  for 
a  few  moments,  light  broke  through  the  clouds.  Presently  it 
was  dark  again,  —  dark  with  thoughts  of  his  own  constitution 
undermined,  and  the  companion  of  his  youth  drooping  before  his 
eyes,  and  his  children,  the  dear  lambs  of  the  fold,  turned,  shel 
terless,  on  the  cold  common.  Take  heart,  servant  of  God ! 
Thou  art  not  in  the  crucible  for  naught.  Thy  dross  is  being 
momently  consumed.  The  vessel  is  fast  meetening  for  the 
Master's  use  ;  preparing,  also,  unto  glory.  Be  patient ;  —  thy 
rest  is  near.  But  alas  for  those  so  dear  to  thee,  when  it 


comes 


Another  day  passes,  and,  though  there  is  a  lull  of  the  warring 
elements,  there  is  no  final  breaking  up  of  the  storm.  The  New- 
Year's  sermon  makes  some  progress,  and  the  theme  chosen  for 
the  lecture  is  abandoned  for  another,  more  pertinent  to  the 
times.  If  any  feel  curious,  let  them  go  to  the  church- vestry, 
and  listen  for  themselves.  The  topic  is  Christian  fellowship, 
and  the  preacher  is  without  notes.  We  are  just  in  season  to 
catch  the  closing  part  of  the  application. 

"  Unless  we  can  have  some  approximation  toward  this  apos- 


LIFE  15   A   COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  307 

tolic  ideal,  we  may  as  well  disband,  and  give  up  our  church 
organization.  What  do  you  know,  brethren,  —  the  majority  of 
you,  —  what  do  you  know  of  each  other's  joys  and  sorrows, 
hopes  and  fears,  temptations  and  victories,  as  fellow-heirs  of  the 
common  salvation  ?  The  minister  is  not  to  carry  forward  the 
work  of  God  alone,  while  you  each  ply  the  needle,  and  keep  the 
house,  and  drive  the  plough,  and  manage  the  shop,  and  make 
sure  everyone  his  gain  from  his  quarter!  You  are  to  be 
co-workers  with  him,  and  with  each  other,  and  with  the  Master 
Builder.  Now,  what  shall  break  down  the  separating  walls, 
and  let  heart  meet  heart?  What  is  needful  to  this  cooperation 
and  sympathy  ?  Only  so  much  painstaking  as  you  are  willing 
to  bestow  in  forwarding  your  secular  interests.  Where  is  the 
community  more  busy  and  industrious,  in  life's  common  callings, 
than  this  ?  Where  the  church  more  isolated  and  indolent,  in 
spiritual  things?  The  fellowship  of  the  saints,  —  that  precious 
elementary  doctrine  of  primitive  piety,  —  one  would  think  it. 
here,  almost  an  exploded  theory.  Yet  is  there  not  more  than 
one  heart  that  craves  it,  —  that  cries  out  for  it,  —  that  will 
make  sacrifices  for  so  great  a  boon  ? 

"  Brethren,  will  you,  someliow,  open  your  hearts  to  one 
another ;  so  that  when  you  come  around  the  Saviour's  board 
you  may  come  prepared  to  be  conductors,  as  well  as  receivers, 
from  on  high,  —  with  a  union  so  complete  that  the  electric 
fluid  of  heavenly  love,  finding  you  all  in  communication  with 
each  other  and  the  vital  Source,  may  circulate  freely  from 
heart  to  heart?  "  . 

The  truth  fell  not  powerless.  Some  heard  it  gladly  ;  others 
could  not  bear  it. 

Mrs.  Plympton  thought  it  very  severe.  Mrs.  Hyde  said,  if 
he  thought  that  this  was  the  way  to  bring  the  church  to  duty, 
he  would  find  himself  i^itaken.  Deacon  Hyde's  revenge  is 
silence.  He  will  let  the  minister  terribly  alone,  and  keep  still, 
and  act  out  his  non-intercourse  spirit,  unless  —  which  is  very 
possible  —  God's  grace  bring  him  to  a  better  mind. 


308  THE   SHADY   SIDE  J    OR. 

Mr  Vernon  asked  Mary  if  he  preached  with  bitterness. 

"  No,  ray  dear,"  said  his  discriminating  Mentor,  "  nothing 
of  that ;  though  you  did  use  a  lofty  tone  and  vehemence,  sug 
gestive  of  the  old  prophets." 

It  is  Friday  night ;  and  is  the  storm  now  at  rest,  and  the 
sun  shining  in  his  strength  ?  Alas  !  neither  sun  nor  star  has 
yet  appeared ;  but  the  wind  has  changed,  and  it  is  blowing  a 
gale.  The  tempted  minister  has  let  go  of  the  people.  He  has 
enough  to  do  with  himself.  The  trouble  is  now  betwen  his  own 
soul  and  his  God. 

Another  day,  —  the  last ;  and  still  he  is  tempest-tossed,  and 
not  comforted.  "  This  kind  goeth  not  out  but  by  prayer  and 
fasting."  It  seems  to  Mary  that  her  heart  will  break.  Many 
a  time  does  she  go  to  her  closet,  —  that  little  nook  between  the 
trundle-bed  and  her  pillow, — and  plead  and  weep,  and  tremble 
for  the  issue.  It  is  the  hour  of  rest ;  yet  he  comes  not  down. 
One  more  prayer,  and  she  goes  to  her  solitary  couch,  to  hear 
him  pacing  the  room  above,  under  the  plaint,  "  All  thy  waves 
and  thy  billows  have  gone  over  me."  But  this  lasted  not  long. 
Soon  the  cloud  lifts,  and  the  proud  waves  are  stayed.  He 
knows  what  conjugal  solicitude  is  keeping  night-vigil  on  his 
account,  and  cornes  softly  down,  to  say  that  he  has  found  deliv 
erance.  The  morning  overtakes  him  in  the  study,  at  his  Sab 
bath  preparations,  whence  he  comes  forth,  his  face  shining  like 
Moses',  and  with  feelings  too  tender  for  many  words.  How 
filial  the  spirit  that  leads  the  family  worship,  like  a  weaned 
child  on  its  mother's  bosom-! 

As  he  enters  the  pulpit,  a  whisper  runs  around,  —  "  How 
pale  our  minister  is,  this  morning !  "  "  Looks  sick."  "  Wonder 
what  is  the  matter  ?  "  But  this  is  soon  forgotten,  as  he  comes 
to  them  in  the  fulness  of  the  blessing  of  the  Gospel  of  peace. 

Mary  is  surprised  when  he  names  the  text  and  theme.  It  is 
not  the  same  as  he  had  suid,  early  in  the  \\oek.  It  was  chosen 
after  he  had  overcome  temptation,  and  made  his  peace  anew 
with  God  It  was  "  the  mental  sufferings  of  Christ,"  —  a  touch- 


LIFE   IN   A   COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  309 

ing  theme,  and  handled  with  great  power.  The  affectionate  wife 
cannot  repress  her  tears,  as  she  sees,  throughout  the  discourse, 
the  imprint  of  the  author's  inner  soul,  and  traces  its  workings 
up  from  the  depths  of  distress  and  borders  of  despair,  to  a  firm 
reliance  on  the  Everlasting  Arm.  The  week's  experience  is 
mirrored  there,  and  it  is  inexpressibly  affecting  to  her  heart. 
The  surging  of  the  soul  is  stayed,  —  its  tumultuous  throbbinga 
hushed ;  yet  she  can  see  the  outline  of  the  billows,  as  settled 
peace  meets  them  at  the  word  of  Jesus.  So,  once,  at  that  same 
word,  was  there  a  calm  on  Galilee  ;  —  not  a  smooth  sea,  but 
mountain  waves,  suddenly  transfixed,  —  wild,  yet  quiet ;  con 
trasting  the  safety  with  the  peril. 

And  how  came  on  the  New-Year's  sermon  ?  It  was  nearly 
finished,  on  paper;  but  as  he  looked  it  over,  Sabbath  noon,  it 
seemed  so  cold  and  unattuned  to  his  present  mood  that  he  flung 
it  by,  and,  under  the  guidance  of  a  sudden  thought,  turned  to 
the  passage,  "  God  requireth  that  which  is  past."  When  the 
bell  rung,  for  afternoon  service,  he  had  "  a  plan,"  upon  a  single 
page,  from  which  he  preached  with  an  unction  and  power  that 
told  on  many  a  heart. 

"  I  wonder  what  has  waked  up  our  minister ! "  said  Mr.  Doug 
lass,  on  the  way  home  from  service. 

"  I  should  think,"  said  the  eminently  pious  widow  Johnson, 
"  God  had  brought  him  out  of  some  deep  heart-trouble." 

Days  of  prostrating  sickness  followed  the  excitement  and 
exertion  of  New- Year's  week ;  but  the  light  of  God's  counte 
nance  made  amends  for  all.  Where,  now,  was  the  Deacon  Ely, 
tc  take  from  the  sick  pastor  all  care  of  providing  for  the  pulpit 
to  pray  and  commune  with  him,  to  take  his  place  in  the  field 
of  pastoral  effort  ?  Alas !  if  Deacon  Ely's  mantle  fell  to  earth, 
it  did  not  drop  at  Olney.  0,  how  does  God's  special  presence 
lighten  any  sorrow !  "  Such  views  of  Christ  and  redemption  as 
I  have  had  to-day,"  said  Edward,  "ought  to  give  ras  au 
impulse  that  shall  last  a  life-time.  0,  the  goodness  of  God! 
what  docs  he  want,  of  any  poor  sinner,  but  that  he  give  up  his 


310  TIIE  SUADY  SIDE;    OE, 

heart,  to  be  wrought  upon  and  saved  by  this  wonderful  method 
of  grace  ?  "  After  two  weeks,  Mr.  Vernon  was  again  in  the 
pulpit  and  around  the  parish.  His  preaching  was  very  practi 
cal  and  mostly  addressed  to  the  professed  children  of  God. 
Such  texts  as  these  followed  each  other  :  "We  are  not  ignorant 
of  his  devices."  —  "  Blessed  is  he  that  endureth  temptation." 
—  "A  bruised  reed  will  he  not  break."  —  " The  victory  that 
overcometh  the  world."  — "  Not  every  one  that  saith  Lord, 
Lord."  —  "  Repent,  and  do  thy  first  works."  —  "  Let  it  alone 
this  year  also,  .  .  .  after  that  thou  mayst  cut  it  down."  The 
word  was  with  power. 

Miss  Loomis,  a  poor  invalid,  sent  for  the  sermon  on  "  Christ's 
gentleness  to  afflicted  souls  ;"  and  returned  it  with  a  note  of 
thanks  that  brought  the  tears  to  the  eyes  of  her  pastor.  "  I 
think,"  said  Mary,  "  you  can  submit  to  suffering,  if  it  brings 
forth  such  fruit  for  others.  Mr.  Langdon  told  me,  when  he 
last  exchanged  with  you,  '  that  he  was  at  home  everywhere  iu 
a  minister's  work,  only  among  the  sick  and  bereaved ;  he  had 
always  enjoyed  firm  health,  and  never  Ipst  near  friends ;'  and, 
said  he,  '  I  feel  awkward,  and  don't  know  what  to  say.'  It  is 
a  blessed  privilege  to  be  a  son  of  consolation  to  God's  afflicted 
children." 

A  poor  hypochondriac,  too,  spoke  of  the  discourse  on  tempta 
tion  as  "  the  only  thing  that  ever  reached  his  case ;  and  he 
thought  the  minister  must  have  looked  into  his  heart."  Ah ! 
he  had  looked  into  his  own  veryclosely,  —  which  is  much  the 
same  thing;  for,  as  in  water  face  answereth  to  face,  so  doth 
the  heart  of  man  to  man. 

And  now,  as  might  be  expected,  the  church  awakes  from 
her  long  slumber,  and  puts  her  mouth  in  the  dust,  if  so  be 
there  may  be  hope.  Sinners  flock  to  Christ ;  and  the  pastor, 
with  tears  of  gratitude,  exclaims,  "  Lord,  what  precious  boon 
is  this,  and  how  undeserved  at  thy  hands !  "  Meetings  aro 
multiplied,  and,  with  them,  the  cares  at  the  parsonage.  The 
pastor's  wife  has  many  guests ;  —  some  who  call  to  convene 


LIFE   IJi    A    COINTRT  PABSONAQB.  311 

with  tlio  minister,  and  wait  his  return  from  the  tour  of  a  dis 
trict  ;  others  from  distant  neighborhoods,  because  it  is  good  to 
be  there,  and  a  convenient  place  to  stay  over  from  meeting  to 
meeting.  The  flour  is  at  this  time  low,  and  there  is  no  money 
in  the  purse.  Mrs.  Rogers  saw  the  influx  at  the  parsonage, 
and  sent  in  a  baking  or  two  of  rye.  Good  woman  !  "  she  did 
what  she  could." 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Vernon  to  her  husband,  as 
he  was  starting  for  a  meeting  at  the  hill-side ;  "  to-morrow  is 
baking-day,  and  the  barrel  is  out." 

"  I  will  see,  to-morrow,"  was  the  reply ;  yet,  somehow,  he 
felt  less  solicitude  than  the  case  seemed  to  demand.  By-and- 
by,  the  public  carrier  turned  his  teum  up  the  avenue  to  the  par 
sonage,  and,  handing  a  letter  to  Mary,  proceeded  to  lift  out  a 
barrel  of  superfine  flour,  which,  he  said,  a  merchant  in  town 
told  him  he  had  received  an  order  to  send  to  parson  Vernon. 
Mary  knew  the  writing  well.  Many  a  note  had  she  received  in 
that  hand,  years  agone.  It  was  from  Frank  Upton,  the  wan 
derer  ;  and  "  in  token  of  his  pastor's  former  love  and  faithful 
ness  to  his  soul."  0 !  how  many  tears  fell  over  that  note ! 
What  flour  ever  made  so  sweet  bread  ! 

When  Mr.  Vernon  knelt,  that  night,  at  his  family  altar,  and 
thanked  God  for  the  hope  that  some  precious  souls  had,  that 
day,  been  brought  to  repentance,  his  joy,  in  view  of'  these, 
began  not  to  equal  that  with  which  he  made  mention  of  one 
who  he  had  feared  was  spiritually  dead,  but  has  reason  to 
think  is  alive  again ;  who  was  lost,  but  is  found.  And  so  the 
word  of  God  prospered.  Even  the  deacons  forgot  their  secret 
alienation  from  the  pastor,  and  labored  as  he  had  never  seen 
them  before.  "  How  tender  are  Deacon  Hyde's  prayers !  "  said 
widow  Johnson ;  "  I  never  knew  before  that  he  was  so  spiritual 
a  man.  The  former  minister  used  to  think  he  did  n't  help 
much."  And  did  the  pastor,  as  he  might,  say  a  word  to  lessen 
thia  good  opinion  ?  Not  a  word.  He  was  glad  for  the  office' 


312  THE   SHADY   SIDE  J    OR, 

sake,  and  for  the  individual's  sake,  that  his  reputation  should 
advance. 

These  were,  to  Mr.  Vernon  and  Mary,  their  happiest  day.3, 
always  excepting  that  three  years  at  Salem,  —  and  perhaps 
we  ought  not  to  except  even  those.  Their  joys,  now  set  frff 
by  a  dark  counterpoise  of  grief,  were  the  most  precious  and 
the  purest  they  had  ever  tasted.  God  was  setting  his  own  seal 
to  their  labors.  They  had  much  evidence,  too,  that  they  had 
commended  themselves  with  the  Gospel,  to  every  man's  con 
science  in  the  sight  of  God ;  they  had  the  public  confidence, 
and  the  warm  affection  of  many  Christian  hearts. 

It  is  again  the  fatal  month  of  March,  and  the  shadow  of  a 
great  bereavement  is  near.  Without  warning  to  divide  the 
blow,  there  comes  to  Mary  the  heavy  tidings  of  her  father's 
Budden  death.  She  reels,  at  first,  under  the  terrible  stroke,  but 
soon  is  able  to  say,  "  It  is  the  Lord !  let  him  do  what  seemeth 
him  good."  To  Him  she  flies  as  to  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock 
in  a  weary  land.  Yet,  how  can  she  think  of  her  chiWhood's 
home,  as  desolate,  —  as  in  the  hands  of  strangers  ?  That  dear 
old  home ! 

"  The  sunlight  seems  to  her  eyes  brighter  there 
Than  wheresoever  else." 

But,  most  of  all,  her  dear  father's  counsel  and  sympathy,  to 
which,'  'mid  all  her  trials,  she  has  turned  as  to  a  green  spot  in 
the  desert,  —  0 !  how  can  she  miss  this  soktce  for  the  remainder 
of  her  pilgrimage ! 

They  send  for  sister  Harriet  to  come  to  them.  She  must  stay 
and  attend  to  the  disposal  of  the  personal  estate ;  —  and  then, 
if  God  wills,  her  home  shall  be  henceforth  with  them. 

"  Surely,  there  is  comfort  in  that,"  said  Edward. 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply;  yet  faint,  as  if  the  heart  had  some 
misgiving.  She  would  not  utter  it  to  him,  but  the  thought 
was,  '•  Sister  Harriet  has  no  idea  how  frugally  we  have  to  live; 
$he  cannot  economize  as  /have." 

But  she  did  not  come.     13y  a  singular  coincidence  of  circum- 


UFE   IN    A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  813 

Stances,  —  maiden  of  forty-five  though  she  was,  —  she  mam  id, 
and  left  the  old  ancestral  home  in  three  months  after  her  father 
went  to  his  home  in  the  skies.  It  was  one  of  those  stories  of 
romance  in  real  life  that  shame  the  fancy  of  the  novelist.  A 
poor,  western  minister,  whom  she  had  loved  in  early  girlhood, 
came  and  asked  her  to  be  the  mother  of  his  six  children,  in 
their  home  toward  the  sun-setting. 

It  was  a  great  aggravation  of  Mary's  affliction,  that  she  could 
not  go  with  Edward  to  her  father's  funeral.  There  would  have 
been  a  sorrowful  satisfaction  in  looking  at  that  dear  face  once 
more,  tliough  it  wore  the  signet  of  death.  How  thankful  was 
she,  no\v,  lor  that  long,  sweet  visit  in  the  autumn !  Memory 
went  back,  and  gathered  up  every  incident,  and  daguerreotyped 
the  whole  anew  upon  her  heart.  That  memorable  talk  by  the 
library  window  !  She  feels  again  the  tender  pressure  of  the 
hand  upon  her  head,  and  hears  those  stirring  words,  "  0 !  my 
daughter,  I  begin  to  fool  some  spirit-longings  for  that  better 
land ! " 

The  March  winds  have  but  just  given  place  to  April's  change 
ful  days,  when  the  feeble  wail  of  young  babyhood  is  again  heard 
at  the  parsonage  ;  and  the  father's  heart  is  gladdened  by  taking 
in  his  anus  a  second  boy.  Little  Willie  is  not  strong  as  were 
his  predecessors,  yet,  by  careful  nursing,  he  may  some  day  out 
strip  the  rest  in  health  and  stature.  The  mother,  too,  after 
many  days,  is  gaining  no  strength  ;  having  been  disappointed 
in  her  nurse,  she  is  dependent  on  Milly  Green,  and  the  new, 
inexpert  Hibernian.  Mr.  Vernon  is  full  of  parochial  cares ; 
guiding  the  young  Christians  of  his  flock,  and  looking  still  with 
diligence  after  some  cases  of  inquiry  that  have  not  issued  in 
hope.  Mary  misses  many  a  delicacy  that  she  would  have  once 
thought  iodispeoaable  at  such  a  season.  It  seems  to  her,  also, 
that  her  constitution  luts  no  recuperative  power;  —  that  it  would 
be  so  easy  just  to  lie  down  and  die.  Hut  presently  there  is  a 
change.  Instead  of  the  dingy  waiter,  with  tea  and  crackers,  a 
little  stand  with  a  snow-white  napkin,  and  the  nicest  little  bit 
27 


814  THE   SHADY   SIDE;    OR. 

of  toast,  and  smoking  broth,  with  a  familiar  flavor,  and  soft 
boiled  custard  for  a  dessert,  is  pressed  against  the  pillow.  Milly 
Green  has  disappeared.  Allie  stands  at  the  foot-board  with 
sparkling  eye,  reading  his  mother's  altered  look.  The  little  girls 
are  on  the  lounge  in  the  room  adjoining,  whispering,  with  soft, 
pleasant  hum,  over  new  picture-books.  Even  the  crying  baby 
is  taking  a  longer  nap  than  usual ;  and  now  Mr.  Vernon  has 
come  in  with  a  brighter  face  than  he  has  worn  these  many 
days.  A  quick,  light  step  is  passing  in  and  out  from  nursery 
to  kitchen ;  and  it  is  very  plain  that  Mabel  has  come  back. 
When  Allie  found  he  had  a  brother,  he  could  not  forbear 
writing  the  news  to  Mabel ;  and,  from  the  letter,  she  gleaned 
enough  to  know  that  her  presence  there  would  be  sunshine  in 
a  dark  place.  So  she  pleaded  with  Mr.  Walter  for  a  three 
weeks'  vacation ;  —  and  here  she  is,  with  money  enough  in 
her  purse  for  any  little  dainty  which  can  coax  back  a  fugitive 
appetite. 

But  her  presence  and  thoughtful  care  are  more  than  all  the 
comforts  money  can  procure.  Her  three  weeks  were  prolonged 
to  five ;  for  she  would  not  leave  till  Mrs.  Vernon  was  once 
more  able  to  take  the  helm.  And  then,  —  ah!  little  did  she 
think  her  visit  was  to  end  with  tears !  —  the  baby,  who  had 
begun  to  thrive,  —  whose  growing  intelligence  was  matter  of 
daily  joy  in  the  infant  circle,  —  the  boy  of  eight  weeks  old, 
suddenly  closed  his  violet  eyes  in  their  last  sleep.  And  Mabel 
dressed  him  for  the  coffin,  and  they  laid  the  little  Willie  'mid 
the  May  flowers  in  the  quiet  church-yard,  —  and  prattling  Car 
rie  is  again  the  baby. 

Edward  grieved,  more  than  Mary,  over  this  bereavement. 
LucyMcrton  looked  on  her  own  tiny  babe,  'mid  a  rain  of  tears, 
and  wondered  Mrs.  Vernon  could  be  so  calm  and  cheerful. 
But  heaven  seemed  so  near  to  Mary,  and  so  many  of  her  treas 
ures  were  already  there,  —  there  was  something  so  blessed  in 
untried  innocence,  and  God's  will  seemed  so  desirable  and  glo 
rious,  —  she  acquiesced  without  a  murmur. 


LIFE   IN   A    COUNTRY   PARSONAGE.  315 

"  It  is  very  sweet  to  me,"  she  said,  as  her  husband  was 
bemoaning  the  child,  very  sweet  to  think  of  another  darling 
safe  in  the  heavenly  home.  Besides,  Edward,  it  seemed  to  me 
such  a  long,  weary  way,  to  get  him  as  far  as  Allie  on  the  path 
of  life." 

Edward  looked  at  her  with  concealed  surprise.  This  was 
not  like  Mary.  A  sudden  revelation  flashed  upon  him.  Can 
that  bright  spot  in  her  cheek  be  the  hectic  flush,  and  is  the 
vital  energy  almost  spent  ?  His  heart  would  not  tolerate 
the  thought,  and  he  resolutely  turned  unbeliever;  —  it  could 
not  be. 

The  spring  has  fairly  opened,  and  Mr.  Vernon  decides  to 
look  for  a  new  location.  But,  surely  after  the  revival  which 
has  blessed  so  many  families,  his  people  will  rally,  and  pour  out 
freely  of  their  temporal  things,  ibr  one  who  has  ministered  so 
unsparingly  in  spiritual  things.  There  has  been  some  talk  to 
this  effect  in  the  parish  ;  but  nothing  is  done,  except  that  pri 
vate  benefactions  have  become  more  frequent. 

Sister  Harriet  makes  them  a  parting  visit,  and  puts  a  hun 
dred  dollars  into  Mary's  hands,  saying,  "There,  pay  off  what 
you  owe,  and  go  where  you  can  live." 

"  But  what  other  place,"  said  Mary,  "  can  be  home  to  me 
like  this?" 

Does  it  seem  to  you,  dear  reader,  that  life  in  Olney,  —  par 
ticularly  for  the  last  eighteen  months,  —  has  worn  too  sombre 
an  aspect  to  admit  of  many  regrets  at  the  prospect  of  a  re 
moval  ?  Ah !  then  we  have  failed  to  supply  to  you  what  has 
been  present  to  our  own  experienced  eyesight,  —  a  diamond 
vein,  running  through  the  whole* flinty  quarry;  a  fringe  of 
golden  light  bordering  every  leaden  cloud  ;  gleams  of  sunshine 
in  the  tangled  wilderness ;  fresh  water  from  the  rock  on  desert 
sands  ;  way-side  greenness  and  bloom  all  along  the  dusty  thor 
oughfare  ;  and,  more  than  all,  vital  heat  suffused  throughout  the 
scene,  reflecting  a  warm  glow  even  where  it  cannot  permeate, 
giving  a  rich  coloring  to  the  rugged,  deeply-shaded  landscape. 


316  THE    SHADY    SIDE;    OR, 

How  often  has  Mary  watched,  from  her  window,  the  varying 
shadows  on  the  mountain-side,  as  they  emblem  forth  her  cheq 
uered  history !  The  sun  is  past  the  meridian,  and  April  clouds 
are  scudding  low,  or  hanging  in  white  masses,  in  the  mid- 
heavens.  Up,  almost  to  the  old  summit  ridge,  is  a  slope  covered 
with  young  ash  and  birch,  whose  tender  foliage,  as  the  sun 
thines  brightly  there,  is  of  the  most  delectable  green.  Under 
the  black  o'erhanging  cliffs,  it  nestles  like  a  little  Eden,  the  only 
spot  of  sunshine  on  all  the  mountain.  Presently  the  changing 
clouds  throw  over  it  a  pall ;  when,  as  the  whole  view  seems 
dark  and  cold,  a  little  lower  down  another  spot  of  garden 
verdure,  with  green  of  a  different  hue,  is  mapped  off  by  the 
sunlight ;  and  when  this,  too,  is  veiled  and  lost,  further  on 
the  evergreens  suddenly  stand  out  under  a  flood  of  refulgent 
light.  Slowly  then,  as  the  eye  returns,  the  pall  lifts  from  the 
first  fairy  spot,  yielding,  however,  to  the  glad  sunshine  only 
half  the  territory  that  was  so  beautiful  at  the  beginning.  Yet 
this  looks  brighter  than  before ;  and  even  the  gray  beetling 
cliffs  adjacent  soften  as  in  sympathy  with  the  restored  joy. 
When  this  again  is  lost,  the  eye  is  surprised  with  patches  of 
light  and  verdure,  where  they  are  least  expected,  —  now,  high 
up  among  the  crags,  and  anon  dancing  along  the  mountain's 
base. 

"  How  apt  the  similitude  !  "  thought  Mary ;  "  snatches  of 
sunshine  all  the  way.  Such,  with  me,  has  been  life's  kaleido 
scope,  —  turned  oft  in  tears,  yet  never  in  rayless  night  —  never 
in  unmitigated  gloom.  Ah !  it  is  the  shifting  clouds  unl  the 
changing  earth  that  so  variegate  thfc  picture.  The  light  is  ever 
the  same. 

"  Heaven  smiles  above, 

Though  storm  and  vapor  intervene  ; 
That  sun  shines  on  whose  name  is  Love, 

Serenely  o'er  life's  shadowy  scene.'' 


UfK  IN   A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  817 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

"  Who  goeth  a  warfare  any  time  at  his  owu  charges  1  .  .  Who  feed' 
eth  a  flock,  and  eateth  not  of  the  milk  of  the  flock  1  "  "  Ihoa  shall  not 
muzzle  the  mouth  of  the  ox  that  treadeth  out  the  corn." 

"  If  we  have  sown  unto  you  spiritual  things,  is  it  a  great  thing  if  we 
shall  reap  your  carnal  things  1  " 

THOUGH  Mr.  Vernon's  intellect  and  scholarly  grace  have  not 
been  fully  appreciated  in  Olney,  they  have  not  been  unnoted 
from  without.  His  ministerial  brethren  understand  his  power; 
and,  when  it  is  known  that  he  will  seek  another  field,  he  is 
recommended  as  the  man  to  build  up  a  new  enterprise  in  the 
suburbs  of  a  distant  city.  He  is  sent  for  thither  to  preach  a 
Sabbath ;  and,  to  avoid  a  stir  among  his  people  before  the  time, 
directs  his  supply  to  exchange  pulpits  with  brother  Langdon. 
Mr  L.  halted  a  moment  at  the  parsonage,  Saturday  night,  to 
say  that  he  had  taken  a  notion  to  stop  over  Sabbath  with 
Captain  Brown.  Right  welcome,  too,  was  he  made  at  the 
warm-hearted  farmer's,  in  whose  ear  he  resolved,  before  he  left, 
to  lodge  some  important  truths. 

It  was  Sabbath  evening,  and  the  fire  blazed  cheerfully  in  the 
capacious  Franklin,  before  which  sat  the  farmer  in  his  arm 
chair,  the  young  minister  in  the  Boston  rocker,  and  Mrs. 
Brown.  Susie  had  run  over  to  the  parsonage.  A  conversa 
tion  much  like  the  following  ensued  : 

Mr.  Langdon.  How  many  families  have  you  in  the  parish, 
Captain  Broun  ? 

Captain  Brown.    About  a  hundred,  I  believe,  sir. 

Mr.  L.  You  have  a  fund,  I  am  told.  How  much  of  the  sal 
ary  does  it  leave  you  to  provide  for  from  the  pews  ? 

Capt.  B.    A  hundred  and  fifty,  or  thereabouts. 

Mr.  L.   How  much  do  your  ablest  men  pay  a  year  ? 
2*7* 


318  TOE  SHADY  SIDE;  OR, 

Capt.  B.  Well,  I  reckon  the  ablest  don't  pay  the  most. 
There  's  Esquire  Eaton,  —  his  property  goes  into  the  list  foi 
about  thirty  thousand ;  and  Mr.  Briggs,  I  suppose,  is  worth 
twenty.  Sometimes  they  bid  off  a  seat  for  two  or  three  dol 
lars  ;  the  highest  are  five,  now,  —  they  used  to  be  seven  or 
eight,  but  the  congregation  has  increased. 

Mr.  L.  And  while  you  have  been  paying  five  and  four  and 
three  dollars  apiece,  to  support  the  Gospel  here,  your  minister, 
it  seems,  has  paid  a  hundred,  besides  giving  himself!  Is  that 
honest  ? 

Capt,  B.  (reddening).  I  don't  think  his  salary  is  large 
enough,  sir ;  but  I  believe  there  's  nothing  dishonest  about  it. 
We  give  him  what  we  agreed. 

Mr.  L.  You  pay  him  the  nominal  sum  at  which  his  support 
was  rated ;  but  does  not  the  contract  between  you,  from  its 
nature,  imply  that,  if  he  devote  himself  to  your  service  in  the 
ministry,  you  are  to  be  responsible  for  his  temporal  wants, —  to 
give  him  a  comfortable  support  ? 

Capt.  B.   I  suppose  we  are  to  give  him  what  we  promised. 

Mr.  L.  But,  underneath  that  promise,  is  there  not  a  pledge 
—  an  obligation,  si  least  —  to  provide  all  things  needful  for 
his  bodily  comfort,  and  his  intellectual  and  social  wants  ?  You 
would  be  ashamed  to  say  that  you  expected  or  desired  a  man  to 
labor  here  in  the  ministry,  partly  at  his  own  charges,  when  you 
are  all  aboveboard  as  to  property,  and  made  richer  every  year 
by  the  influence  of  religious  institutions. 

Capt.  B.   Well,  we  thought  five  hundred  would  do  it. 

Mr.  L.  And,  when  you  were  frankly  told  that  it  did  not, 
what  then  ?  Did  not  honesty  require  you  to  add  to  it  ?  Mr. 
Vernon,  I  am  told,  has  to  struggle  with  poverty,  and  live  very 
closely. 

Capt.  B.  I  am  willing  to  give  him  more.  I  am  sorry  for 
their  troubles  ;  yet,  I  suppose,  really,  my  wife  and  L  calculated 
about  as  close,  when  we  began  life. 

Mrs.  B.    0,  Mr.  Brown,  that  was  a  very  different  thing' 


LIFE   IN    A   COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  319 

We  were  not  compelled  to  it.     We  did  it,  you  know,  for  the 
sake  of  laying  up. 

Air.  L.  Altogether  different,  sir.  Suppose  you  had  been  at 
work  with  all  your  might  for  some  one  else,  who  kept  back 
part  of  your  earnings,  and  thus  obliged  you  to  deny  yourselves 
common  comforts,  —  would  it  have  come  as  easy  ?  The  fact  is, 
Captain  Brown,  half  of  you  business  men  look  upon  us  minis 
ters  us  a  set  of  poor  fellows,  that  are  glad  to  preach  the  Gospel 
for  the  sake  of  a  living.  It  never  seems  to  occur  to  you  that 
we  have  relinquished  or  foregone  business  prospects  bright  as* 
yours,  with  no  more  obligation  to  give  them  up  than  you,  only 
as  the  command  of  Christ  to  preach  his  Gospel  presses  upon 
our  conscience  and  heart.  Why,  just  look,  sir,  at  the  clergy 
right  around  us  here. 

There  's  Mr.  Catlin,  a  man  of  finished  education,  might  ha\e 
made  himself  rich  by  teaching.  He  was  tutor  at  Dartmouth 
and  was  offered  a  professorship ;  but  his  heart  was  set  on 
preaching,  and  there  he  has  been  at  it  these  twenty  years,  — 
all  the  while  struggling  with  poverty,  and  his  wife  writing 
books  and  turning  every  way  to  bring  up  their  children. 

Here,  too,  nearer  still,  is  Mr.  Morton,  —  a  man  whom  all 
respect,  —  a  thorough  scholar,  particularly  skilled  in  astronom 
ical  science.  The  way  was  once  open  for  him  to  a  place  in  the 
National  Observatory,  with  a  salary  of  $2000  ;  but  he  declined 
the  tempting  offer,  and  is  trying  to  live  on  five  hundred,  fitting 
boys  for  college  to  make  up  a  support.  His  people,  I  hear,  are 
beginning  to  complain  that  he  does  n't  write  as  good  sermons  as 
he  did  at  first. 

Capt.  B.  I  suppose  they  do  for  him  about  what  they  are 
able. 

Mr.  L.  Perhaps  they  do,  according  to  the  prevailing  stand 
ard  of  ability.  But  let  that  pass.  To  speak  of  myself,  next 
in  order,  I  was  offered  by  my  uncle  a  salary  of  a  thousand  dol 
lars  to  go  into  his  store  as  clerk.  And  here  is  your  Mr.  Ver- 
DOQ,  who  gave  up  a  profusion  in  which,  with  his  talents,  ho 


320  THE    SHADY   SIDE;     OR, 

might  now  be  worth  his  thousands.  And  yet,  I  venture,  there 
are  people  in  this  place  who  will  give  each  other  the  wink,  and 
say, "  He  's  glad  enough  to  stay  and  work  on,  even  for  what  we 
give  him."  He  is  glad  to  work  for  Christ,  and  look  for  his 
reward  in  heaven ;  but,  as  for  feeling  remunerated  by  the  pit 
tance  you  allow,  were  it  not  for  the  constraining  love  of  Christ 
and  the  sustaining  grace  of  Ged,  he  would  fling  it  in  your  facef 
and  wipe  off  the  dust  of  his  feet  for  a  testimony  against  you. 

Capt.  B.  I  own  it 's  a  shame  \p3  don't  give  him  more  ;  but 
our  deacons  are  opposed  to  it,  and  it  is  hard  carrying  mutters 
over  their  heads. 

Mr.  L.  I  should  n't  mind  much  about  such  heads.  But  I 
was  about  to  say  that  the  support  of  the  Gospel  is  viewed  toe 
much  as  a  charity.  All  these  churches,  whose  preaching  costs 
them  the  merest  moiety  of  their  income,  are  living  comfortably 
themselves,  educating  their  children,  and  increasing  their  pos 
sessions,  and  willing  to  pay  an  equivalent  for  everything  thej 
procure,  except  the  Gospel !  When  they  pay  their  lawyer, 
or  doctor,  or  schoolmaster,  or  shoemaker,  it  is  for  value  re 
ceived,  —  a  commercial  operation  ;  but  when  they  pay  their 
minister,  it  is  a  gratuity.  : 

Capt.  B.  I  never  feel  like  that.  I  think  the  Gospel  is 
worth  all  we  pay  for  it,  and  more,  too,  even  to  our  secular 
interests.  Some  are  for  making  it  up  to  Mr.  Vernon  in  pres 
ents  of  produce ;  but  my  motto  is,  "  Money  answereth  all 
things."  I  would  give  him  salary  enough  to  live  on ;  then,  if 
we  want  to  make  him  presents,  we  can. 

Mr.  L.  I  hope  you  will  not  think  I  am  giving  you  a  lecture, 
Captain  Brown.  I  know  you  are  more  candid  in  these  matters 
than  many  men.  I  heard  of  a  man,  between  this  place  and 
mine,  who  said  he  thought  ten  dollars  a  Sabbath  was  a  great 
price  for  a  minister  to  ask,  for  just  preaching  two  sermons  that 
he  could  write  in  a  week.  Now,  this  shows  another  thing 
overlooked.  All  these  ministers  have  spent  nine  or  ten  of  the 
best  years  of  their  life,  and  from  one  to  two  thousand  dollars, 


LIFE   IN    A   COUNTRY    PAKSONAGE.  321 

to  qualify  them  to  write  these  two  sermons  a  week.  Think 
what  a  lift  the  time  and  money  thus  consumed  would  have 
given  them  in  some  worldly  calling.  Now,  if  you  estimate 
their  'abor  on  the  mercantile  principle,  if  you  begin  to  talk 
about  "  what  it 's  worth,"  you  must  consider  the  capital  they 
have  invested  in  the  business.  Every  week's  labor,  for  ten 
years,  has  cost  them  a  week's  preparation,  at  their  own  charges 
Now,  instead  of  fixing  the  compensation  on  this  principle,  the 
question  is,  "What  is  the  least  our  minister  can  live  on  ?" 
And  even  here,  he  is  not  to  be  the  judge  and  decide  the  ques 
tion  for  himself.  Yet,  who  so  competent  as  he  to  tell  ?  What 
is  comfort  for  one,  is  not  necessarily  for  another.  Some  farm 
ers,  captain,  want  twice  the  tools  to  work  with  that  others  do, 
and  more  to  keep  the  pot  boiling. 

Capt.  B.    Just  so,  sir,  — just  so. 

Mr.  L.  And  you  don't  find  it  bad  management  to  enrich  the 
soil  by  an  outlay,  now  and  then,  for  plaster  and  guano. 

"  It  pays,"  said  the  captain,  rubbing  his  hands  ;  "  it  pays' 

Mr.  L.  And  it 's  no  great  advantage  to  the  farm,  to  scrimp 
the  working  cattle,  or  have  the  cows  "  spring-poor." 

Capt.  B.    You  hit  it  again,  sir. 

Mrs.  B.  I  believe  I  said  once  that  I  thought  a  minister 
might  live  on  five  hundred  dollars ;  but,  when  Mr.  Vernon 
came  to  make  his  statement  to  the  society,  I  thought  more  of  it, 
and  felt  ashamed  that  I  had  ever  said  so.  We  ought  to  havo 
(.•"iiliilence  enough  in  our  minister  to  trust  him  in  such  things. 
1  have  felt  so  sorry  for  them  the  past  year.  They  have  had  so 
man)  trials,  and  they  are  so  still  about  it,  too.  He  preaches 
like  an  apostle,  and  ishe  never  complains. 

M>-.  L.  Yet  there  are  ministers  —  and  in  this  county,  too 
—  poorer  off  than  they.  It  is  time  the  churches  opened  their 
eyes  to  this  thing.  There  arc  fewer  young  men  entering  the 
ministry.  They  are  appalled  by  the  prospect  of  poor  remuner 
ation,  and  want  of  sympathy.  Do  you  know  Mr.  Smith,  of  T., 
up  back  here  on  the  mountain  ? 


322  THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OR, 

Capt.  B.    I  have  seen  him  once  at  a  consociation. 

Mr.  L.  Well,  he  is  twelve  miles  from  me,  but  I  exchanged 
with  him  a  while  ago.  He  has  six  children,  and  a  salary  of 
four  hundred  dollars ;  and  such  destitution  one  would  hardly 
believe,  unless  they  saw.  Mrs.  S.  said  they  could  not  send  all 
the  children  to  school  together,  because  they  could  not  clothe 
them  all  decently  at  a  time.  They  had  to  take  their  turns. 
The  church  is  small  and  poor,  and  is  aided  by  our  Domestic 
Missionary  Society.  I  came  home  and  told  my  wife  about  it ; 
and  she,  with  a  few  ladies,  made  up  a  little  purse,  and  de 
spatched  by  mail.  I  presume  they  will  think  it  a  "  God-send." 

Capt.  B.    Can't  something  be  done  for  such  cases  ? 

Mr.  L.  The  abler  churches  ought  to  relieve  them.  I  was 
thinking  it  over  yesterday.  Now,  what  does  Dr.  N.,  of  that 
great  church  in  the  city,  with  his  nice  house,  his  carpeted  study, 
and  easy  chair,  and  convenient  table,  and  grand  library,  —  what 
does  he  know  of  such  hardships  as  poor  brother  Smith  suffers  ? 
Not  that  the  doctor  is  a  whit  too  well  cared  for.  He  has  no 
provision  for  old  age,  but  the  promises.  He  must  live  as 
handsomely  as  the  middle  class  in  his  congregation.  But  I 
would  have  him  think  of  his  poorer  brethren.  He  might  spare 
a  few  well-read  books  from  his  library,  or  a  disused  garment 
from  his  wardrobe.  His  church,  too,  with  their  munificent 
benefactions  to  benevolent  objects— they  are  not  doing  a  cent  too 
much  —  but  I  would  have  them  do  a  little  more  in  another 
direction.  When  they  get  their  thousand  dollars  together,  for 
western  colleges,  let  them  throw  down  the  odd  change  —  fifty 
dollars,  or  twenty,  as  it  may  be  —  for  that  poor  pastor  on  the 
mountain,  so  that  his  six  children  can  be  made  decent,  to  go  to 
school  together.  That  would  be  apostolic,  and  after  primitive 
fashion,  would  n't  it,  Captain  Brown  ? 

The  captain  is  rather  absorbed  just  now.  "  I  am  thinking," 
said  he,  "  how  we  can  get  up  this  business  of  rising  upon  our 
xuinister's  salary." 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  323 

Mr.  L.  Nothing  easier,  sir.  You  just  call  a  meeting,  and 
make  a  motion  to  that  effect,  and  — 

Capt.  B.  I !  /  make  a  motion  ?  I  never  did  such  a  thing 
in  my  life.  There  's  Esquire  Eaton,  and  Mr.  Briggs,  and  the 
deacons.  I  ?  confound  me,  if  I  could  ! 


CHAPTER  XL. 

"  Partings,  such  as  press 

The  life  from  out  young  hearts,  and  choking  sighs 
That  ne'er  might  be  repeated." 

"  'T  is  a  time 
For  memory,  and  for  tears." 

AViiKN  Mr.  Vernon's  call  from  the  suburban  church  reached 
the  parsonage,  Mary  felt  such  a  sinking  of  heart  as  she  had 
seldom  experienced.  She  just  finds  how  deeply  interwoven  are 
the  threads  of  her  existence  with  the  place  and  people.  Truo, 
the  arguments  for  leaving  are  strong  and  incontrovertible :  his 
poor  remuneration  and  want  of  sympathy  here ;  —  there,  a 
larger  field  of  usefulness  and  an  ample  support,  with  facilities 
fur  educating  their  children.  She  tries  to  keep  down  her  swell 
ing  heart.  Providence  surely  leads  this  way.  It  will  give 
Edward  some  relief  from  his  late  exhausting  night-  studies,  as  he 
can  avail  himself  of  previous  preparation.  Ellen,  too,  can  be 
theirs  again  ;  and  she  heaves  a  sigh  that  always  escapes  at  the 
mention  of  the  absent  one.  Brother  William  has  signified  his 
purpose  to  send  his  oldest  child  to  his  native  land  ;  and  she  has 
so  longed  to  take  it  to  the  bosom  of  her  own  family.  That 
wish  can  now  be  gratified.  And,  finally,  'mid  the  reviving  of 
other  buried  hopes,  that  brings  a  quick  flush  to  the  cheek,  cornea 
the  thought  of  her  lost  piano.  This  treasure  might  be  hers 
again  Ah  !  how  had  she  missed  the  beloved  music,  those 
seven  long  years,  —  at  the  family  devotions,  at  the  social  gath- 


324  THE  SHAD?  SIDE;   OK, 

ering,  in  the  lone  evening,  at  times  when  her  heart  was  heavy 
with  grief,  or  swelling  high  with  joy!  let  —  heroic  wife  that 
she  was  —  she  had  never  worn  her  husband's  sensitive  heart 
strings  with  a  single  regretful  murmur  or  .vain  wish  to  recover 
the  alienated  treasure.  The  thrill  of  pleasure  now,  showed  the 
greatness  of  the  sacrifice. 

But  again  comes  the  sad  reaction  of  feeling.  This  is  home. 
The  affections  are  rooted  all  about  this  pleasant  valley.  The 
dwelling,  too,  in  its  rural  beauty,  —  their  hands  have  fashioned 
its  adornments,  and  it  has  been  sacred  to  their  presence.  It 
has  been  the  birthplace  of  their  little  ones.  The  children  can 
never  know  another  home  like  this,  —  with  the  grassy  path 
behind  the  garden  to  the  quiet  churchyard,  traversed  oft  these 
summer  days  to  carry  flowers  to  the  little  mound  where  baby 
Willie  sleeps.  0 !  the  breaking  up  of  all  these  life-ties,  of 
slow  yet  consolidated  growth.  With  the  tenderest  care,  how 
many  roots  will  be  cruelly  severed,  —  how  many  branches  am 
putated  !  What  ligature  can  ever  stop  the  bleeding  ? 

Edward  has  laid  his  call  before  the  people,  and  told  them  he 
had  no  wish  to  leave,  if  he  could  be  supported  here.  A  gleam 
of  hope  rises  in  Mary's  bosom  :  they  will  increase  his  salary,  — 
they  will  keep  him  yet. 

There  is  much  real  sorrow  among  the  people  at  thought  of 
the  separation.  A  large  majority  would  now  give  any  reasona 
ble  sum  to  retain  their  pastor ;  but  he  would  not  stay,  unless 
the  expression  were  unanimous.  Deacon  Hyde  says,  "  If  he 
chooses  to  leave,  he  can ;  we  can  find  another."  And  Deacon 
White  intimates  that  the  pastor's  movement  toward  another 
field  ''  is  but  a  ruse  to  get  more  money  here." 

The  ladies  talk  it  up  at  the  sewing-circle,  whither  Mary's 
feelings  will  not  let  her  go.  Mrs.  Brown  astonishes  the  circle 
with  sentiments  they  never  heard  from  her  before.  Among  other 
things,  she  says  her  husband  had  been  talking  with  the  agent 
of  a  life  insurance  company ;  and,  just  as  Mr.  Vernon  received 
his  call,  he  was  going  round  to  see  if  the  people  would  get  the 


LIFE   IN    A   COUNTRY    PABjONAGE.  325 

minister's  life  insured  for  at  least  as  much  as  the  principal  and 
interest  of  what  he  has  spent  of  his  own  property  while  he  has 
been  our  pastor.  He  thinks  it  would  be  only  an  act  of  justice. 

"  But  that  would  not  help  him  any  now"  said  Mrs.  Rogers. 

"It  would  provide  something  for  .the  family,"  said  Mrs 
Brown,  "  if  he  should  be  taken  away." 

"Get  his  life  insured!  did  you  say?"  ejaculated  an  old 
lady,  looking  over  her  spectacles  ;  "  never  heerd  of  such  things 
'inong  Christian  folks.  I  should  call  that  tempting  Provi 
dence." 

"  I  think,"  said  a  pert  young  miss,  "  that  ministers  ought  to 
lay  up  something  for  old  age." 

Hester's  lip  curled,  and  she  said,  "  Ministers  ought  not  to 
live  to  be  old." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  another. 

"  They  ought  to  wear  out,  first,"  was  the  reply. 

Ah  !  Hester,  thy  spirit  is  sore  to-day,  at  thought  of  losing 
thy  pastor's  family ;  and  thou  art  putting  on  another  coat  of 
ice,  lest  the  scalding  tears  within  melt  through,  and  betray  to 
others  the  sensibility  which,  early  wounded,  is  guarded  like  a 
dangerous  secret  in  thy  own  bosom. 

Beyond  the  parish,  there  was  a  circle  to  feel  the  approaching 
separation  with  lively  regret.  It  was  the  little  band  of  min 
isterial  brethren.  How  could  they  spare  brother  Vernon  from 
the  ministers'  meeting?  "How  can  we  spare  his  family  from 
the  neighborhood  ?  "  said  Charles  Herbert ;  "  visiting  there  is 
the  one  great  solace  of  my  bachelorhood.  Mrs.  Yernon  has  such 
a  genial  humor,  she  makes  everybody  happy  around  her. 
Even  when  suffering  hci.^elf,  she  has  some  playful  stroke  to 
make  others  smile."  And  he  rode  over  to  Olney  for  a  last 
visit.  He  had  many  regrets  to  utter  ;  and,  finally,  a  word  for 
Mrs.  Vcrnon's  private  ear,  which,  with  some  embarrassment,  he 
ventured  thus : 

"  You  say  I  have  lost  my  opportunity  with  the  fair  Misa 
Julia."  ^Ile  had  never  made  any  direct  advances  in  that  direo- 
28 


326  THE   SHADY    SIPE  \     OR, 

tion ;  for,  though  Mary  thought  he  only  waited  an  encouraging 
word  from  her,  she  spoke  it  not.  The  only  son  of  the  rich. 
Esquire  Eaton  had  asked  for  Julia  Rogers'  hand  ;  and  Mr 
Vernon  had  just  announced  the  fact  that  he  should  have  her 
for  a  parishioner  soon,  if  he  were  to  stay  in  Olney.)  "  As  I 
have  lost  Miss  Julia,"  said  Mr.  Herbert,  "  why  will  you  not 
speak  a  word  for  me  at  brother  Catlin's;  at  least,  asceitain 
—  you  ladies  have  the  tact  —  whether  it  would  be  of  any  use 
for  me  to  look  that  way.  Is  n't  Mary  Catlin  a  splendid  girl  ?  " 

"  Why,  Mr.  Herbert,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  you  are  wild  this 
time.  Mary  is  but  seventeen,  with  her  school-girl  laurels  fresh 
upon  her." 

"  I  can  wait  another  year,"  said  the  young  man.  Mrs.  Ver 
non  shook  her  head.  "  0  !  "  said  he,  "I  see  you  think  I  am 
too  old ;"  and  he  kissed  the  children  good-by,  and  went  back 
to  his  bachelor  sanctum. 

Mrs.  Vernon  sat  musingly  a  while.  "  Yes,  Mary  Catlin  is 
'  a  splendid  girl;'  yet  she  is  not  destined,  at  present,  to  be  mis 
tress  of  any  parsonage.  Inheriting  her  mother's  gift  of  poesy, 
and  her  father's  love  of  the  exact  sciences,  and  the  sensibility 
of  both,  she  is  looking,  with  an  eagle  eye,  and  plumed  wing, 
and  swelling  heart,  toward  the  temple  of  Fame,  yet  with  a 
chastened  spirit  that  lays  all  her  prospective  trophies  at  the  foot 
of  the  Cross.  Dear,  bright  young  creature  !  "  At  that  mo 
ment  she  trips  up  the  steps.  She  had  come  to  make  her  part 
ing  visit,  and  to  help,  meanwhile,  in  the  many,  many  things, 
that  were  to  be  done  before  the  final  departure. 

Lucy  Merton  was  over  twice  a  week,  going  home  always 
with  red  eyes,  and  a  heart  utterly  unreconciled  to  the  separa 
tion.  She  had  obtained  a  promise  that,  after  all  was  ready  for 
removal,  the  family  would  pass  a  night  with  her,  and  be  started 
thence  on  their  distant  way. 

The  last  Sabbath  brought  a  crowded  audience,  and  the  place 
was  literally  a  Bochim.  Many  tearful  glances  were  cast  at 
the  little  group  in  the  minister's  pew,  whose  self-poRsession  cost 


•  LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAOK.  P)2? 

a  continual  effort.  How  tender  was  the  sermon  !  —  how  elo 
quent,  too  !  —  disfigured  by  no  personalities.  "  I  am  not 
ashamed  of  the  gospel  of  Christ !  "  How  many  in  that  little 
church  were  living  witnesses  of  its  power  ! 

And  now  followed  the  week  of  removal,  —  days  of  much  man 
ual  toil,  and  a  constant  tension  of  the  spirit's  chords.  It  seems 
an  occasion  of  general  grief,  though  it  may  be  there  is  secret 
joy  in  a  few  uncongenial  hearts.  There  is  much  proffered  ser 
vice  ;  in  some  instances,  as  if  to  make  atonement  for  past  neg 
lect.  The  Douglasses  stand  aloof.  They  have  been  cool  for 
many  months.  Some  mischief-maker  whispered,  that  Mrs.  Ver- 
non  thinks  little  of  their  society.  They  would  have  repelled 
the  suspicion  in  regard  to  any  other  friend ;  but  the  old  native 
jealousy  toward  a  mini.stcr's  wife,  confides  in  the  slander ;  and 
here,  where  there  is  a  debt  of  gratitude,  and  a  tie  cemented  by 
two  precious  graves,  they  can  cherish  distrust  and  bitterness  ! 
They  will  find,  ere  long,  that  they  never  had  a  gentler,  truer 
friend  than  the  pastor's  wife ;  and  when  she  is  gone,  the 
remembrance  of  this  requital  will  sorely  pierce  their  hearts. 

The  last  day  has  come  at  length,  and  the  calls  multiply.  The 
little  lame  boy  comes  to  return  his  books.  Old  Mrs.  Hawkins 
sends  home  the  cup  in  which  the  jelly  was  sent  to  her  sick 
grandchild,  and  asks  the  loan  of  the  "  Farewell  Sermon,"  as 
"  her  rheumatis  would  n't  let  her  get  out  to  meetin'." 

Mr.  Nelson's  little  daughter  came  for  the  thornless  rose 
promised  her,  to  plant  at  her  mother's  grave.  "  May  be,"  said 
the  child,  "  I  V1  miss  of  getting  it,  it'  I  wait  till  spring ;  for 
there  's  no  telling,  father  says,  who  '11  come  after  you." 

Hester  Allen  was  there  all  day,  plying  the  needle,  and  quar 
relling  with  herself  to  keep  back  the  tears. 

"  O  !  ivitt  this  day  of  partings  ever  end  ?"  says  the  pastor's 
wife  to  herself,  as,  with  burning  eyes  and  aching  head,  she  tries 
to  collect  her  scattered  thoughts  for  needful  direction  about  the 
household  stuff,  —  and  still  the  confusion  multiplies.  The  chil 
dren  are  wearied  out.  Allie  is  trying  to  help.  Rose  IB  wan- 


328  THE    SHADY    SIDE;     OK, 

licriug  through  the  blockaded  rooms,  and  beiuoaning  to  her 
Jolly,  that  "  there  is  nowhere  to  stay."  And  little  Carrie  is 
fast  asleep  on  a  pile  of  shawls  in  a  corner  of  what  was  once  tho 
bed-room. 

And  still,  amid  the  packing  of  trunks  and  the  moving  of 
boxes,  the  leave-taking  goes  sorrowfully  on  ;  —  here  with  noisy 
lamentation,  and  there  with  a  silent  pressure  of  the  lip  and 
hand,  —  and  more  than  once,  with  a  parting  gift  and  a  farewell 
note,  which  will  be  read  to-morrow  with  full  eyes  and  a  fuller 
heart. 

Susan  Brown  and  Hester  are  the  last  to  leave ;  and  they  have 
taken  the  monthly  rose  and  the  japonica. 

And  now  they  are  all  gone.  Mary  has  wept  so  much,  she 
wonders  if  the  fount  of  tears  within  will  ever  fill  again. 

The  goods  at  last  are  sent  off.  Mr.  Merton's  carriage  has 
long  waited  at  the  door  ;  and  Captain  Brown  has  started  with 
the  trunks  in  his  lumber-wagon,  first  giving  Mary  a  "  V,"  say 
ing,  "  Money  answereth  all  things."  It  is  just  at  sunset.  The 
children  are  already  in  the  carriage^  and  Edward  is  attending 
to  some  last  thing,  which  always  appears  after  everything  is 
done.  Mary  stands  before  the  window  of  her  own  room  ;  — 
that  window  from  which  she  has  watched  the  changing  seasons 
of  seven  fleeting  years,  whose  echoes  now  come  back  to  her  ear 
—  "a  dirge-like  song,  half  bliss,  half  woe  !  "  The  sunset  glow 
is  on  the  mountain  side,  whose  forests,  from  base  to  crest,  are 
tinged  with  the  first  autumnal  hues,  contrasting  with  the 
clumps  of  evergreen  that  rise  distinct,  like  the  changeless  hopes 
of  a  better  world,  'mid  the  brilliancy  and  decay  of  this.  The 
sky  is  beautiful  with  violet  and  gold.  The  church  is  inter 
cepted  by  twin-elms,  above  which  the  spire  is  visible ;  while, 
beneath  their  drooping  foliage,  is  caught  the  glimpse  of  many  a 
marble  pillar,  in  the  place  of  graves.  The  eyes  that  gazed  upon 
this  scene  were  sorrowful,  yet  clear.  Tears  had  flowed  before, 
and  they,  may  come  afterward  ;  but  now,  there  must  be  a  last, 
undimmed  look,  to  daguerreotype  every  feature  of  the  deal 


LIVE   US    A    COUNTKY    PARSONAGB.  329 

ppct,  for  future  yearnings  of  the  heart.  And  now  the  gaze 
Lrtens  on  objects  nearer  still,  —  the  maples  on  each  side  the 
avenue,  the  little  nursery  of  fruit,  the  flowering  shrubs  and 
rose  vines,  the  leafy  arbor,  the  bordered  walks,  —  all,  all  was 
their  own  handiwork.  Not  a  vegetable  growth,  but  they  had 
started,  and  watched,  and  nursed.  The  garden  blooms  are 
nipped  by  the  early  frost.  They  will  put  forth  anew  at  the 
breath  of  another  spring ;  but  who  can  love  them  so  well 
as  they,  or  cherish  them  so  tenderly  ?  Does  she  think  of 
this,  as  she  leans  her  head  wearily  against  the  sash,  yet  does 
not  turn  away?  Ay,  and  of  many  a  sweeter,  holier  link 
beside,  binding  her  very  soul  to  the  spot !  The  sky  pales  ;  all 
hues  of  the  mountain  merge  in  the  solemn  tint  of  the  ever 
green  ;  the  evening  wind  begins  its  soft,  sad  cadence  among 
the  pines  ;  the  voice  of  the  brook,  low,  yet  relentless,  murmurs, 
"  On,  on  !  "  The  moon  is  up,  and  shines  into  the  pensive  face, 
suddenly  upturned  to  the  sky.  Her  hands  draw  nearer,  and 
clasp  closely ;  and  she  instinctively  turns  toward  her  wonted 
place  of  prayer.  Bare  walls  and  the  naked  floor  meet  her 
eye.  No  matter,  the  prayer  is  in  her  heart,  and  Jesus  can 
read  it  there.  A  moment  more,  and  Edward  gently,  tenderly 
draws  her  hand  within .  his  arm,  and  silently  leads  her  to  the 
carriage.  As  it  turns  away,  she  looks  back  once  more,  and 
catches  sight  of  a  straggling  branch  of  honeysuckle,  that  has 
escaped  from  its  fillet,  and  is  swinging  up  and  down.,  over  the 
doorway,  in  the  freshening  breeze.  It  seems  to  her  the  spirit 
of  the  deserted  parsonage,  waving  a  sorrowful  adieu. 
28* 


THE  SIIAUY  SIDK;  os. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

•  "  Sunrise  will  come  next ; 
The  shadow  of  the  night  is  passed  away." 

"  Courage  !  you  travel  through  a  darksome  cave  ; 
But  still,  as  nearer  to  the  light  you  draw, 
Fresh  gales  will  meet  you  from  the  upper  air, 
And  wholesome  dews  of  heaven  your  forehead  lave, 
And  darkness  lighten  more,  till  full  of  awe 
You  stand  in  the  open  sunshine  unaware  !  " 

"Thou  dwell'st  on  sorrow's  high  and  barren  place, 
But  round  about  the  mount,  an  angel  guard,  — 
Chariots  of  fire,  horses  of  fire,  encamp, 
To  keep  thee  safe  for  heaven." 

LET  us  follow  on  to  the  suburbs  of  the  city.  In  that  brick 
hotel,  four  stories  high,  we  find  our  Mary,  with  her  little  girls, 
boarding  till  arrangements  can  be  made  for  house-keeping. 
Allie  is  put"  away  to  school ;  and  as  the  new  church  edifice  is 
not  quite  ready  for  dedication,  the  pastor  elect  postpones  his 
inauguration,  and  takes  the  interval  for  a  visit  to  his  old  chum, 
Frederick  Morton.  He  is  much  in  need  of  recreation,  and  so  ia 
Mary  ;  but  they  cannot  both  go  and  take  the  children,  for  the 
purse  is  low.  She  is,  therefore,  staying  patiently  behind,  — 
very  lonely,  'mid  brick  walls  and  stranger  faces.  How  does 
her  heart  long  for  many  a  familiar  face,  —  ay,  for  some  whom 
she  never  more  may  greet  on  earth  ! 

0,  the  irrepressible  yearning  for  a  buried  friend !  for  the 
well-remembered  footsteps,  that  always  sent  a  thrill  of  pleasure 
to  our  bosom  ;  for  the  eyes,  into  which  we  were  wont  to  gaze  as 
in  a  book,  and  read  the  soul ;  for  the  voice,  that  was  ever  sweet 
music  to  our  hearts,  whose  echoes  ever  and  anon  wake  up  and 
thrill  us  with  the  old  \miliar  strain,  yet  grow  fainter  as  we 


LIFE    IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE  331 

listen,  till  they  die  away  ;  for  the  pressure  of  the  hand,  as  we 
remember  it  well,  as  we  feel  it  oft  again  in  dreams.  0 !  if 
there  were  no  better  land,  where  are  to  be  gathered  again  tho 
links  of  love's  dissevered  chain,  who  could  bear  this  heart-sick 
ness,  for  which  earth  his  no  remedy  ? 

Mr.  Vernon  planned  his  absence  for  a  fortnight,  and  he  wrote 
back  often.  In  his  first  letter  he  says 

.  .  .  .  "  This  is  the  same  Bessie  Crampton,  of  Salem 
memory  ;  her  cheeks  slightly  less  round  than  when  you  twined 
those  white  roses  in  her  dark  curls,  for  the  nuptial  rite,  yet  her 
bloom  as  fresh  and  her  black  eyes  as  mischievous.  She  is 
equally  at  home,  receiving  a  group  of  '  fashionables '  in  her 
splendid  parlor,  or  playing  a  game  of  romps  with  her  boys  iu 
the  nursery  ;  in  which  last  exercise  I  joined  her  this  morning, 
and  am  now  immortalized  among  the  juveniles. 

"  But  Frederick,  my  old  chum,  is  greatly  changed  ;  that  is, 
he  has  grown  great  in  more  senses  than  one.  First  (to  speak 
methodically),  in  social  position  ;  —  he  has  increased  in  riches 
and  honor.  Second,  in  material  substance  ;  —  he  is  so  portly 
you  would  scarce  recognize  him.  And,  thirdly,  in  his  own  esti 
mation  ;  —  he  has  put  on  a  shade  or  two  of  self-complacency  ; 
but  it  sits  very  easy  on  him,  and  makes  him  vastly  comfortable, 
and  hurts  nobody. 

"  I  am  most  cordially  received,  —  welcomed  to  the  freedom 
of  the  house.  If  you  were  only  here  to  enjoy  it  too  !  Bessie 
speaks  of  you  almost  every  hour.  Morton  and  I  had  a  long, 
serious  talk  last  evening.  He  dwelt  upon  what  he  called  the 
unfairness  of  the  world  in  awarding  its  praises,  and  said,  frank 
ly,  '  Your  prospects,  Vernon,  were  fairer  than  mine,  before  you 
chose  to  sacrifice  them  to  a  higher  calling.  Here,  I  own  a  place 
worth  five  thousand,  and  have  fifteen  thousand  more,  Fnugly 
invested.  Now,  because  I  gave  a  thousand  last  month,  at  the 
meeting  of  the  American  Board,  my  liberality  was  heralded 
in  the  public  journals.  But  you  have  given  all  /  am  worth, 


332  THE    SHADY   SIDE;    OR, 

and  more  ;  yet  the  world  takes  it  very  quietly.  I  understand 
your  motives  now,  I  trust,  better  than  once.  I  hope  you  have 
forgiven  that  foolish  talk  of  mine,  years  ago,  at  Salem.  There 
are  times,  my  dear  fellow,  •yhen  I  envy  you  your  reward.  '' 

That  fortnight, — how  heavily  it  drags  away,  even  'mid  the 
children's  pleasant  prattle !  A  long  letter  from  sister  Harriet 
is  received  and  answered.  It  details,  with  mathematical  accu 
racy,  the  hair-breadth  'scapes  of  the  journey  thither,  and  the 
forlorn  condition  in  which  she  found  the  six  children,  —  "  the 
thought  of  whom,"  she  declares,  "  moved  her  to  this  marriage, 
quite  as  strongly  as  her  regard  for*  their  father ;  and  she  found 
the  case  had  not  been  exaggerated  for  the  sake  of  effect." 
(Miss  Allison  never  could  see  untidiness,  anywhere,  without  an 
instinctive  impulse  to  take  hold,  and  —  as  the  Scotch  say  — 
give  things  "  a  redding  up.")  She  has  made  a  new  place  of  it 
there,  with  her  Yankee  housewifery,  and  the  comforts  she  car 
ried  with  her.  She  is  getting  used  to  the  ways  of  the  people, 
and  it  does  not  shock  her  propriety  now,  as  it  did  at  first,  to 
hear  herself  inquired  for,  as  "  the  ministress."  Her  health  has 
been  good,  and  she  thinks  the  talk  about  "getting  acclimated," 
is  all  moonshine  ;  and  "  as  for  fever-and-ague,  she  don't  believe 
in  it,  and  won't  have  it  ;  and  if  she  does,  urill  not  give  up  to 
it  ;  —  what 's  the  use  in  lying  by  for  '  the  shakes  ? ' ):  The 
letter  had  laid  unfinished  four  weeks,  when  a  postscript  was 
added,  in  the  dominie's  hand,  to  the  effect,  that  "  sister  Harriet, 
being  seized  with  chills  and  fever,  for  a  time  refused  to  take 
her  bed  or  have  medical  treatment,  —  endeavoring,  with  great 
determination,  to  pursue  her  household  cares,  as  usual ;  in  con 
sequence  of  which,  she  had  been  alarmingly  sick,  —  was  now 
only  able  to  raise  herself  in  bed,  and  with  no  prospect  of  health 
for  many  days  to  come." 

Mary's  sisterly  heart  sighed  over  the  sad  issue  as  heartily  as 
she  had  laughed  over  the  four  pages  in  her  energotic  sister's 
peculiar  vein.  '  Ah!"  thought  she,  "God's  servants  every- 


\ 

LIFE   IN    A    COUNTBT    PARSONAGE.  333 

where  must  have  the  discipline  of  affliction  !       Bunyan  was 
right  — 

'  The  Christian  man  is  never  lung  at  ease  ; 
When  one  fright 's  gone,  another  doth  him  seize.' " 

The  day  of  Mr.  Vernon's  expected  return  has  arrived ;  but, 
in  his  stead,  there  comes  a  letter,  playfully  commenced,  with 
his  wonted  thoughtfulness  of  that  sensitive  heart,  quick  to  take 
alarm. 

"ELM  COTTAGE,  Oct.,  IS— 
"  DEAR  MARY,  MINE,  — 

"  Why  am  I  not  with  you  to-night  ?  —  Because  I  am  here. 
And  why  am  I  here  ?  —  Because  I  am  not  with  you.  My  kind 
friends  would  not  let  me  out  to-day.  I  have  been  a  little  ill 
since  I  wrote  you  last.  Now,  do  not  let  your  quick  imagina 
tion  go  beyond  the  sober  verity.  I  say,  a  little  ill ;  •—  a  cold, 
with  some  tendency  to  inflammation  of  (he  lungs,  and  an  obsti 
nate  headache.  I  am  better  to-day,  and  almost  fancied  I  was 
well  enough  to  travel ;  but  Morton  put  an  injunction  on  me, 
with  heavy  penalties ;  so  I  am  legally  bound,  you  perceive. 

"  Imagine  me,  dearest,  with  a  superb  velvet  wrapper,  lined 
with  rich  brocade,  hanging  in  loose  folds  about  me,  and  my  feet 
encased  in  slippers  to  match,  half-buried  in  a  luxurious  damask- 
cushioned  rocker,  and  every  want  anticipated.  (Ah  !  except 
ing  always  one  great  want  of  my  heart,  which  cannot  be  filled 
away  from  its  best  earthly  treasure  !)  I  hope  to  start  to-mor 
row  for  home.  Ah,  me  !  —  would  you  believe  it,  Mary  ?  —  when 
I  wrote  that  word,  home,  my  thoughts  were  of  the  dear  parson 
age,  nestling  in  the  valley,  —  our  home  no  longer!  Since  I 
loft,  I  have  thought  much  of  you,  in  connection  with  leaving 
Gluey;  and  I  fear  the  severance  of  those  ties  has  been  too  heavy 
a  tax  upon  your  sensibilities.  I  dwelt  upon  it  one  night  till  I 
felt  no  elasticity  or  courage  to  enter  upon  our  new  enterprise. 
My  heart  sunk  so  low,  that  [  thought  only  you  could  fish  it  up 
again.  0,  how  I  missed  my  comforter  !  But  the  Lord  mer- 


334  THE  SHAD?  SIDE;   OK, 

eifully  lifted  me  up,  and  gave  me  such  views  of  his  character 
and  his  dealings  with  us, — of  the  brevity  of  this  chequered  life, 
and  the  glorious  realities  beyond,  —  that  I  could  say,  cheerfully, 
'  Lord,  here  am  I ;  do  with  me  what  seemeth  good  in  thy 
eight.' 

"  Let  me  say,  here,  dear  Mary  (you  cannot  help  it,  for  you 
are  not  near  enough  to  put  your  finger  on  my  lips,  —  your  old 
resort,  when  I  begin  to  praise),  let  me  say,  that  you  have  been 
to  me  an  angel  of  mercy.  If,  in  a  ministry  of  thirteen  years 
since  our  marriage,  I  have  been  able  to  do  anything  for  God 
and  souls,  I  owe  it,  under  Him,  to  you  ;  —  your  wisdom,  your 
love,  your  faithfulness,  your  prayers,  your  hope-inspiring  pres 
ence,  that  has  illumined  all  iny  darkness,  and  made  for  me 
such  a  home.  And  what  if  the  place  be  changed  ? — it  is  home 
always,  and  anywhere,  with  you  ! 

"  Bessie  comes  in,  and  peremptorily  forbids  my  writing  more. 
If  you  are  writing  Allie,  give  him  his  father's  love  and  blessing. 
(lie  is  his  mother's  boy.)  Hug  Rose,  and  kiss  Carrie  for  papa; 
and  do  not  forget  to  pray  for  a  poor  sinner,  who,  as  some  sign 
of  grace,  subscribes  himself 

"  YOUR  HUSBAND." 

This  was  a  sad,  yet  precious  letter  to  the  devoted  wife 
Many  tears  were  shed  over  it  now  ;  and  it  will  be  doubly  dear 
to  her  in  the  days  that  are  to  come,  when  —  but  we  will  not 
anticipate. 

Edward  returned,  as  he  had  hoped,  and  with  a  flush  upon 
his  cheek  that  made  Mary  say,  at  the  first  glance,  "  I  am  so 
relieved  to  see  you  looking  so  well."  But  presently  her  heart 
misgave  her.  There  was  something  unnatural  in  his  look  and 
manner.  He  seemed  so  gratified  to  be  once  more  with  her  ;  — 
caressed  the  children  with  more  than  his  wonted  playfulness, 
and  had  much  to  say  of  his  pleasant  visit.  But  his  voice  was 
hollow ;  and  ever  and  anon  he  pressed  his  hand  to  his  temples, 
and  said,  he  had  feared  he  was  adding  to  his  cold,  on  his  night 


Lli'E    IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  335 

passage  down  the  river.  At  bed-time,  he  complained  of  feeling 
strangely,  but  hoped  rest  would  relieve  him,  and  he  should  be 
himself  again  on  the  morrow.  Alas  !  before  the  morrow  came 
he  was  tossing  with  wild  delirium  ! 

Sick,  and  among  strangers!  How  helpless  Mary  felt! 
What  quick  visions  rose  of  the  quiet  parsonage,  of  the  familiar 
bed-room,  of  the  cupboard  over  the  mantel,  with  its  viuls  of 
simple  medicines  ! 

In  the  morning  twilight  a  messenger  was  despatched  for  tho 
physician,  who  pronounced  his  disease  brain  fever. 

To  the  anxious  wife  it  seemed  as  if  the  precious  time  were 
needlessly  wasted  in  getting  anything  done  for  the  sufferer. 
At  home,  how  quickly  would  she  have  had  the  dock-leaves  on 
his  feet,  the  blister  on  his  neck,  and  the  leeches  on  his  tem 
ples  !  There,  too,  how  slight  an  effort  would  have  secured  per 
fect  stillness  !  She  need  only  put  her  finger  on  her  lip  to  have 
suspended  the  children's  sports,  and  the  noisy  operations  of  the 
kitchen.  Here,  in  this  large  boarding-house,  were  other  chil 
dren  than  her  own.  Here  was  the  heavy  tramp,  to  and  fro, 
through  the  passages,  and  up  and  down  the  stairs. 

She  had  the  best  medical  care,  but  it  was  of  no  avail.  The 
disease  progressed  without  control.  To  her  aching  heart  the 
week  was  one  long  agony.  "  0,  might  the  delirium  but  pass 
away  !  —  if  he  would  only  know  me  !  —  if  he  would  speak 
but  once  to  the  dear  children ! "  A  kind  neighbor  took  the 
little  girls  away.  "  0,  but  to  see  dear  Dr.  Alden,  or  have  sis 
ter  Catlin's  earnest  sympathy,  or  one  grasp  of  farmer  Brown's 
cordial  hand !  If  Leevy  Cook  were  here,  or  even  Milly 
Green ! " 

Her  heart  was  one  continually  uplifted  prayer ;  and  when  it 
seemed  nigh  bursting,  for  want  of  vent,  she  left  the  unconscious 
sufferer  with  one  of  their  new  friends,  and  stole  up  to  a  little 
store-room,  in  the  attic,  which  held  their  baggage,  and  there 
poured  out  her  soul  before  God.  A  fire  seemed  burning  in  her 
heart  and  brain ;  and,  as  yet,  her  eyes  were  dry.  But  as  she 


336  THE    SHADY    SIDE  J    OE, 

kneeled  there,  among  trunks  and  boxes,  groaning  rather  than 
uttering  her  pleas,  her  eyes  caught  the  marking  on  those  rough 
boards,  in  that  familiar  hand,  —  "  books,"  "  sermons,"  —  and  the 
little  study  at  the  village  parsonage,  and  the  quiet  Sabbaths, 
and  the  dear  family  group,  came  up  so  vividly,  and,  with  them, 
the  quick  recoil,  "  Gone,  —  gone  forever ! "  —  then  first  came  the 
relief  of  tears.  Like  a  little  child,  she  leaned  upon  the  boxes, 
and  wept  till  her  strength  was  spent.  And  0,  the  prayer  that 
followed  I  —  it  was,  indeed,  a  casting  of  her  care  upon  the  Lord 
and  he  was  present,  with  his  sustaining  arm.  When  she 
resumed  her  place  by  the  sick-couch,  with  the  teats  trickling 
down  her  cheeks,  observers  thought  her  grief  had  gained  inten 
sity,  while  she  was  thankful  that  it  had  found  an  outlet. 

0,  huw  much  she  lived  in  that  one  week  !  —  measuring  life, 
not  by  the  chronometer  of  days  and  hours,  but  by  the  soul's 
experience.  Under  an  impending  calamity,  how  the  mind  gath 
ers  force  and  expansion !  Every  faculty  seems  quickened. 
Thought  is  restless,  eager,  swift ;  —  the  past,  present,  and 
future,  sweep,  as  in  a  panorama,  before  the  inner  vision, 
stretching  on,  and  on,  till  the  brain  grows  dizzy,  and  the  eyes 
close  to  avoid  the  further  view. 

Mrs.  Vernon  needs  not  that  the  last  result  of  the  able  coun 
cil  should  be  broken  gently  to  her  ear.  Her  own  heart  has 
already  said,  "  There  is  no  hope." 

Often,  and  again,  has  her  imagination  outrun  the  rapid 
progress  of  disease,  —  anticipating  the  death  scene,  the  burial 
among  strangers,  and  her  consequent  loneliness  and  penury. 

The  end  draws  on  apace.  Now,  at  last,  the  eyes  slowly 
open,  with  their  natural  expression,  and  the  lips  feebly  articu 
late  the  names  of  wife  and  children.  The  litle  girls  are  brought 
to  the  bed-side,  but  their  dying  father  is  past  the  power  of 
speech.  His  cold  lips,  however,  faintly  return  their  warm 
kisses,  and  his  hand  presses  Mary's  more  closely,  as  if  he  read 
her  thoughts,  and  responded  to  them  thus.  0,  what  an  allevi 
ation,  what  a  comfort,  is  this  return  of  reason,  ere  the  spirit 


LIFE   IS    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  837 

takes  its  flight !     For  this  the  poor  wife  has  offered  unceasing 
prayer,  and  God  in  mercy  answers  the  request. 

Though  Edward  cannot  spe;ik,  his  soul  communes  with  hers, 
and  his  mute  assent  to  her  whispered  words  proclaims  that  ho 
lias  PEACE.  But  this  precious  communion  is  only  for  a  few 
brief  minutes.  Death  is  fast  finishing  his  work.  0,  the  look 
of  agonizing  tenderness  that  he  casts  on  his  wife  and  bubes,  and 
then  raises  upward,  as  if  striving  to  commit  them  to  the  safe 
protection  of  Him  who  has  promised  to  be  the  widow's  God,  and 
the  guide  of  the  fatherless !  A  smile  plays  about  his  pallid 
lij>s,  and  the  eyes  return  to  her,  in  a  full,  earnest  gaze,  and 
again  look  upward  to  the  God  of  the  covenant.  She  under 
stands  it  well.  Faith  triumphs ;  —  she  smiles  in  return,  even 
while  her  heart  is  breaking ;  and  with  that  token  he  goes  to  his 
rest. 

Who  can  depict  the  sense  of  utter  desolation  that  came  over 
that  widowed  heart,  as  it  turned  baek  from  the  portals  of  death, 
with  a  divided  life  ?  "  If  my  dear  father  were  alive,  and  could 
tuke  us  to  the  old  hearth-stone !  —  if  I  could  lean  on  brother 
William's  strong  arm  !  —  if  sister  Harriet,  with  her  fortitude, 
were  here!  or  if  I  could  have  the  sympathy  of  those  dear 
parishioners  who  knew  him,  and  could  appreciate  my  loss,  - 
Bessie,  qr  the  kind,  good  Miss  Leevy,  or  Hester  Allen,  or  dear 
sister  Lucy ! " 

But,  blessed  be  God,  she  knew  a  better  source  of  consolation  ; 
and  it  was  not  long  ere  these  tossings  subsided  into  a  sweet  reli 
ance  upon  the  one  ever-present,  abiding  Comforter.  Her 
llcdecmer  was  her  husband ;  the  Lord  of  Hosts  is  his  name. 

And  now  draws  on  the  funeral  scene.  The  people  are  kind, 
considerate,  serious.  They  are  disappointed,  but  they  cannot 
mourn  as  would  the  whole  population  of  the  valley  among  whom 
he  went  preaching  (he  Gospel  so  many  years.  Mary  feels  the 
difference,  and  can  hardly  forbear  a  regret,  that,  if  the  event 
were  inevitable,  he  did  not  go  down  to  the  grave  amid  the 
tears  and  lamentations  of  his  old  people,  and  repose  in  the  quiet 
29 


338  THE   SHADY    SIDE  ;    OR, 

church-yard,  by  the  baby's  side.  She  had  written  a  letter  to 
Mabel,  hardly  expecting  her  to  come,  yet  feeling  that  the  warm 
hearted  girl  might  grieve  if  the  opportunity  were  denied  her. 
She  came  in  season,  and  mingled  her  tears,  as  one  of  the  mourn 
ing  children  that  had  lost  a  beloved  parent.  Sister  Ellen,  too, 
was  there,  and  the  sensitive  Nelly,  with  tumultuous  grief. 
Not  till  Allie  came  did  the  stricken  heart  find  any  earthly  sup 
port.  After  his  first  burst  of  childish  sorrow  was  over,  he  took 
it  upon  him  to  comfort  his  bereaved  mother,  by  those  precious 
*ords  of  Scripture  consolation  with  which  he  was  so  familiar; 
and,  ere  she  was  aware,  she  found  herself  leaning  en  this  dear 
boy,  and  clinging  to  his  arm  for  support,  as  she  did  to  Edward's 
when  they  buried  their  first-born. 

The  funeral  services  were  in  the  church,  and  the  remains 
were  deposited  in  a  family  vault,  till  the  final  disposition  of 
them  should  be  decided  upon.  Mabel  goes  back  with  Aliie, 
and  the  mother  takes  the  little  ones,  for  a  few  days,  to  Ellen's 
home. 

Let  us  follow  the  tidings  of  the  pastor's  death,  as  they  go  to 
the  several  communities  where  he  has  lived  and  labored.  At 
Millville  the  intelligence  makes  a  mere  ripple  in  life's  foaming 
sea.  "  Ah !  "  "  Indeed  !  "  "  He  could  preach  eloquent  ser 
mons  !  "  "I  am  sorry  to  hear  it ! "  Such  were  the  passing 
tributes,  that  were  soon  forgotten  in  the  next  exciting  theme. 
A  few  hearts,  doubtless,  grieved  in  secret,  and  recalled  many 
an  incident  of  his  ministry.  Mrs.  Moulton  wrote  to  Mrs.  Ver- 
non  a  letter  of  affectionate  condolence,  and  inclosed  a  gift  of 
twenty-five  dollars.  She  had  never  felt  quite  easy  about  the 
piano. 

To  Olney  the  tidings  came  like  a  mountain  avalanche,  or  an 
earthquake's  shock.  The  community  seemed  stunned,  as  by  a 
sudden  blow.  The  sorrow  was  universal,  and  the  sad  particu 
lars  were  carefully  gleaned,  and  passed  from  lip  to  lip,  and  wept 
over  in  many  a  household.  At  the  weekly  prayer-meeting, 
Captain  Brown  choked  in  prayer,  and  was  unable  to  proceed, 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTEY    PARSONAGE.  889 

and  even  the  deacons  made  a  feeling  allusion  to  the  bereave 
ment. 

"  What  have  such  men  to  do  lamenting  for  our  dear  pastor  ?  " 
said  Hester  Allen.  "  But  for  them,  he  might  be  alive,  and 
happy,  here,  to  this  day."  (0,  Hester  !  you  have  no  right  to 
nay  that.)  "Everybody  says,  '  I  'm  sorry.'  It's  an  easy  thing 
to  say ;  and  there  are  enough  to  ask  '  what  Mrs.  Vernon  is  going 
to  do,  —  left  destitute,  and  all  those  children  on  her  hands  ? ' 
But  why  don't  you  act,  as  well  as  talk  ?  Make  up  to  her  what 
they  expended,  here,  of  their  own  property.  That  six  hundred 
dollars  would  be  worth  everything  to  her,  and  we  ought  to 
raise  it;  and  it  shall  be  done,  if  /can  bring  it  about  ;"  and  Hes 
ter  takes  a  subscription  paper,  and  starts  on  her  praiseworthy 
errand.  Captain  Brown  gives  five  dollars.  Esquire  Eaton 
"  will  think  atout  it."  "  While  you  're  thinking,"  said  Hester, 
"just  please  to  remember  that  it  is  not  a  charity.  It's  only 
simple  justice,  —  what  you  lawfully  owe;"  and  she  passed  on, 
to  Deacon  Hyde's.  The  deacon  heard  her  in  silence,  and  took 
out  fifty  cents  from  his  pocket. 

"  Fifty  cents,  Deacon  Hyde !  Why,  you  ought  to  give  six 
or  eight  dollars.  No,  I  will  not  take  the  paltry  sum.  It 
would  burn  my  fingers.  But  the  Lord  deliver  me  from  such 
narrowness  of  soul !  "  (Take  care,  Hester  ;  that  is  not  the  right 
spirit.) 

She  goes  over  the  parish,  and  the  result  is  forty  dollars, 
which  are  sent,  with  many  words  of  sympathy  and  messages  of 
affection. 

Poor  Mrs.  Loomis,  a  life-long  invalid,  writes,  also,  a  letter 
of  condolence.  "  She  thought  not  to  outlive  her  pastor,  yet  she 
had  seen,  these  many  months,  that  he  was  preparing  faot  for 
heaven."  0,  how  precious  was  the  letter,  though  poorly  writ 
ten,  and  many  words  misspelt!  Then  came  the  customary 
resolutions  from  the  Association,  which,  drawn  up  by  Mr.  Mer- 
ton,  Mary  felt  were  something  more  than  a  mere  form.  These 
opened  afresh  the  fountain  of  her  tears. 


340  THE    SHADY    SIDE  J    OK, 

News  of  the  sad  event  reached  the  quiet  spot  where  his 
ministry  was  first  opened,  awakening  peculiar  emotions  of  ten 
derness  and  regret.  Mr.  Vernon  they  remembered  as  he  camo 
to  them  in  the  spring  and  freshness. of  his  years.  They  were 
his  first  love,  and  he  was  their  pastor  when  they  were  a  con 
fiding  ministerial  people.  When  they  had  heard  of  his  call  to 
the  city,  and  his  popularity  there,  they  took  pride  in  the  fact 
that  he  began  his  ministry  in  Salem.  How  often,  'mid  their 
dissensions,  had  they  sighed  for  another  Deacon  Ely  and  Mr. 
Vernon !  Poor  Leevy  spent  a  night  in  tears,  and,  at  length, 
thanked  God  that  she  was  hastening  to  that  better  land,  where 
neither  death  nor  separation  can  intrude ;  where  they  neither 
marry  nor  are  given  in  marriage,  but  are  as  the  angels  of  God 

Even  Mr.  Wood  was  softened ;  and  when  he  inquired  after 
'the  stricken  family,  and  learned  that  the  lamb  of  the  flock  bore 
the  name  of  his  lost  darling,  the  stern  man  melted  down. 

He  took  his  pen,  and  wrote  to  the  young  widow  —  in  a 
kinder  strain,  even,  than  he  at  first  intended  (when  the  snovr 
begins  to  melt  in  a  spring  sun  it  vanishes  fast) —  a  fatherly 
letter;  even  asking  her  forgiveness  for  his  old  severity.  He 
alluded  to  the  child,  and  said  she  might  rely  on  his  doing  some 
thing  for  little  Carrie.  (The  line  was  blurred  —  a  tear  had 
evidently  fallen  as  he  wrote.)  He  enclosed  a  five-dollar  note, 
and  pressed  her  to  visit  Salem. 

Truly,  soon  or  late,  wisdom  is  justified  of  her  children. 
This  letter  Mary  wept  over,  and  so  longed  to  have  Edward  see ! 
and  laid  by,  as  another  token  of  the  divine  faithfulness,  and  a 
fulfilment  of  covenant  promises. 

There  were  other  letters  of  condolence.  Sister  Lucy's,  liter 
ally  wet  with  tears ;  and  one  from  Mr.  Morton  and  I>e.ssy,  giv 
ing  many  particulars  of  Mr.  Yernon's  visit,  —  of  what  he  said 
aud  did  while  with  them,  —  which  Mary  read,  again  and 
again,  and  hoarded  up  in  her  heart  of  hearts. 

Later  still,  a  precious  freight,  from  the  far  west,  with  a  short 
nole  from  Eddie,  in  which  was  all  his  soul,  —  tender,  earnest 


L1FB   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGB.  341 

manly,  —  saying,  Allie  could  comfort  her  better  than  he ;  yet 
he  hoped,  some  day,  to  come  back,  and  do  something  for  her 
and  the  children. 

Very  precious  is  all  this  human  sympathy ;  but  0,  how  utterly 
inadequate,  atone,  to  bind  up  a  bleeding  heart'  How  super 
ficial  the  best  of  it,  compared  with  that  perfect  sympathy  of 
Jesu-s,  which  enters  into  the  deepest  and  the  subtlest  feelings  of 
our  nature,  understanding  our  griefs  even  better  than  we  do 
ourselves,  and  bearing  for  us  the  heavy  end  of  every  burden ' 
Thanks  unto  God  for  his  unspeakable  gift! 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

"  Her  eye  was  bright, 
E'en  yet,  with  something  of  a  starry  light ; 
But  her  form  wasted,  and  her  pallid  check 
Wore,  oft  and  patiently,  a  fatal  streak,  — 
A  rose,  whose  root  was  death." 

"  The  early  flowers  that  spring 
Beside  the  garden  walk,  and  those  tall  trees, 
Would  I  might  sec  them  but  once  more,  and  touch 
The  pleasant  vine  that  o'er  my  window  climbed. 
I  could  breathe  freer  there." 

"  Hope  still  lifts  her  radiant  finger, 

Pointing  to  the  eternal  homo, 
Upon  whose  portals  yet  they  linger, 
Looking  back  for  us  to  come." 

IT  is  hard  to  «tanch  the  tears  of  a  fresh  bereavement,  ere 
nature  has  had  her  due,  and  gird  the  relaxed  muscles  to  grap 
ple  with  want,  in  the  close  struggle  for  daily  bread.  Yet  many 
are  the  sons  and  daughters  of  poverty,  in  this  sin-blighted 
world,  who  cannot  afford  the  luxury  of  time  dedicate  to  grief, 
' —  many  a  poor  minister's  widow  who  enters  the  arena  of  toil, 
when  she  craves  the  solitude  and  privacy  sacred  to  sorrow. 
29* 


342  THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OR, 

Our  Mary  was  not  the  woman  to  fall  dependency  on  the 
nearest  charity.  Then,  though  there  were  many  to  speak  kind 
words,  or  present  a  few  dollars  from  their  purse,  under  the  first 
impulse  of  pity,  there  was  not  one  —  there  seldom  is  —  to  take 
the  matter  in  hand,  and  make  permanent  provision  for  those 
whose  all  has  been  sacrificed  to  the  service  of  the  church,  and 
whose  only  inheritance  is  the  Lord  God  of  Israel. 

True,  she  had  received  pressing  invitations  to  visit  here  and 
there.  Julia  Rogers  (now  Mrs.  Henry  Eaton)  and  Captain 
Brown  had  urged  her  immediate  return  to  Olney;  but  how 
could  she  go  back  to  the  dear  spot  where  every  object  would  be 
a  sharp  reminder  of  her  buried  joys  ?  Besides,  there  is  no 
employment  for  her  there.  0,  not  yet  can  she  go  to  Olney ! 

All  her  effects  are  at  the  new  place,  which  they  had  begun 
to  call  home.  There  is  her  pecuniary  indebtedness,  which  she 
must  contrive  ways  to  meet.  There,  for  the  present,  she 
resolves  to  abide.  The  Lord  has  already  raised  her  up  friends 
among  strangers.  Taking  board  for  herself  and  two  little  ones, 
in  an  humble  dwelling,  she  keeps  enough  of  her  household  stuff 
to  furnish  a  single  room,  and  the  rest  is  sold  under  the  auc 
tioneer's  hammer.  The  library,  for  the  present,  she  excepts, 
hoping  to  preserve  it,  with  the  manuscripts,  for  her  dear  boy. 
With  the  donations  from  abroad,  the  sale  pays  off  the  trans 
portation  bills,  —  which  the  people  do  not  offer  to  liquidate,  — 
settles  the  large  account  at  the  hptel,  and  covers  the  funeral 
charges ;  so  that,  with  the  exception  of  Allie's  school  bill,  she 
is  even  with  the  world.  That,  Mabel,  unknown  to  her,  took 
upon  herself,  when  she  went  back  with  Allison,  and  made  an 
arrangement  by  which  he  can  run  of  errand  out  of  school,  an;] 
hereafter  pay  his  own  way,  —  the  kind  teacher  assuring  her 
that  there  would  be  no  further  charge  of  tuition  for  the  min 
ister's  orphan. 

Now,  Mrs.  Yernon  looks  about  her  for  employment ;  and 
the  most  feasible  plan  seems  the  opening  of  a  private  school. 
Her  new  friends  look  on  her  fragile  form,  and  shake  their 


LIF£    IN   A    COUNTUY    PARSONAGE.  343 

heads  ;  but  her  heart  is  set  upon  it,  and  they  soon  procure  her 
pupils.  Sao  is  well  started  with  a  charge  of  twenty,  among 
whom  are  her  own  little  girls.  She  revives  her  knowledge  of 
piano  music,  and  has  an  extra  class.  She  toils  to  perfect  her 
skill  in  drawing,  that  she  may  «ivail  herself  of  this  art  to  in 
crease  her  scanty  income.  Meanwhile,  the  bright  spot  on  her 
cheek,  that  came  and  went  so  fitfully  all  the  last  summer,  at 
Olney,  has  deepened  into  the  unmistakable  hectic  flush ;  and 
tho  slight  cough  becomes  harassing  at  night  and  morn.  Still 
she  plies  her  task,  though  scarce  able  to  drag  her  weary  step 
from  boarding-place  to  school-room.  The  cold  winter,  with  its 
long,  solitary  nights,  gets  slowly  away  ;  yet  she  is  patient  and 
cheerful,  and  sometimes  mirthful,  for  the  sake  of  her  little  ones. 
They  often  "  wish  dear  papa  would  come  back  one  little  min 
ute  ;"  yet  they  are  quite  happy  in  their  mother's  love  and  care. 
0,  childhood's  blest  unconsciousness  of  ill !  She  has  many 
wakeful  hours  while  her  babes  sleep.  Who  shall  tell  how  they 
are  filled  ?  —  with  what  touching  memories  of  the  past ;  what 
sorrowful  realizations  and  forebodings,  alternating  with  fervent 
believing  prayers,  and  sweet  meditations  of  heavenly  truth,  and 
blessed  communings  with  the  spirit  world  ? 

It  was  in  these  days  she  wrote  a  long  letter  —  a  page  at  a 
time  —  to  her  dear,  only  brother,  with  whom  she  has  kept  a 
frequent  correspondence  during  all  the  vicissitudes  of  her  event 
ful  life.  She  wrote  him  of  her  bereavement  in  the  acme  of  her 
grief,  and  it  is  not  yet  time  for  his  reply  to  reach  her.  But  it 
is  surely  on  the  way,  freighted  with  the  teuderest  sympathy. 
It  contains,  too,  his  estimate  of  their  respective  spheres  of 
service,  in  which  he  awards  to  her  —  his  gentle,  patient,  self- 
sacrificing  sister,  rather  than  to  himself,  the  exiled  missionary — 
the  palm  for  the  martyr-spirit  and  the  martyr's  crowh.  Admon 
ished  by  her  failing  strength,  she  waits  not  for  this  comforting 
response  across  the  waters,  but  writes  again  ;  —  and  from  this 
•eoond  letter,  we  make  the  following  extract : 


344  THE   SHADY    SIDE;    OR, 

"  It  was  a  favorite  project,  in  which  Edward  joined  with  me, 
to  take  your  dear  boy  and  train  him  up  with  ours  ;  but  the  all- 
wise  Disposer  orders  otherwise.  Now,  I  shall  not  live  to  give 
your  darlings  the  shaker  of  my  arms ;  but,  may  I  hope  that, 
if  at  some  future  day,  you  send  them  hither,  pains  will  be  taken 
to  bring  them  into  near  intimacy  with  mine  ?  Are  they  not 

more  closely  related  than  common  cousins  ? 

I  do  not  for  a  moment  regret  my  early  choice,  or  murmur  at 
the  trials  of  the  way.  What  I  have  endured  for  Christ,  0, 
how  little  does  it  seem,  as  I  draw  near  eternity  ! 

'  Our  sainted  father  said  to  me,  a  little  more  than  a  year 
ago,  '  that  I  should  have  one  tie  after  another  transferred  from 
earth  to  heaven,  till  this  kind  of  attraction  would  be  strongest 
upward.'  So  have  I  lived  to  find  it ;  though,  for  my  dear 
children's  sake,  I  might  desire  to  tarry  longer.  I  can,  how 
ever,  commit  them  to  the  God  of  the  covenant,  on  the  strength 
of  that  promise  which  has  never  failed,  though  proved  these 
many  centuries. 

"  They  will  be  cared  for  !  —  this  I  feel  unwaveringly  ;  yet, 
doubtless,  their  tender  feet  might  be  spared  many  roughnesses, 
with  a  mother's  hand  to  smooth  the  way.  God  has  been  very 
good  to  me.  I  am  not  worthy  of  all  the  mercies  and  the  kind 
nesses  that  he  has  shown  me." 

Spring  came  again  to  the  stricken  mourner.  After  the  first 
smarting  of  the  wound  was  over,  her  heart  began  to  yearn  for 
the  old  familiar  places,  —  Mayfield,  and  Salem,  and  Olney. 
But  now  that  her  school  fcrm  is  ended,  and  her  failing  health 
forewarns  her  that  she  will  never  teach  again,  she  must  hus 
band  with  care  the  slender  purse.  She  still  keeps  her  music 
scholars,  and  bend?  patiently  over  the  few  girls  that  come  to 
her  for  lessons  in  drawing ;  — but  this  cannot  last  much  longer. 

The  first  of  April  brings  Captain  Brown  to  the  city,  partly 
on  business,  but  more  to  call  on  Mrs.  Arernon.  He  is  much 
struck  at  the  change  in  her  appearance,  and  can  hardly  keep 
his  self-possession  through  the  brief  interview.  Before  leaving, 


LIFE    IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  3-15 

be  asks  her  if  there  is  anything  she  wants;  and  she  says,  falter- 
ingly,  "  Nothing  hall'  so  much  as  to  see  the  old  place  again." 
He  slips  ten  dollars  into  her  hand,  from  his  capacious  palm. 
"  Ah  !  "  said  she,  playfully,  "you  have  not  forgotten  your  old 
text."  "  And  now,"  said  he,  "  when  it  gets  a  little  warmer, 
we  shall  expert  you.  The  women-folks  will  be  impatient  till 
you  come."  Last  of  all  he  took  from  his  hat  a  carefully 
wrapped  bouquet  of  flowers,  saying,  "  Here  is  something,  of 
Susie's  sending.  I  only  hope  you  won't  shed  as  many  tears 
over  it  as  she  did  this  morning;"  —  and,  without  waiting  to 
note  the  effect,  he  drew  the  back  of  his  hand  across  his  eyes, 
and  said  good-by.  Without  this  touching  gift,  Mary  would 
have  wept  as  soon  as  he  was  gone.  The  tide  of  feeling  had 
been  forcibly  repressed  ;  but  now,  as  she  looked  at  the  familial 
flowers,  —  the  geranium  sprigs  and  blossoms  from  the  very 
bush  she  had  nurtured  for  years ;  the  half-opened  buds  from 
her  own  monthly  rose,  and  especially  the  violets  from  the  par 
sonage  garden  (she  knew  so  well  the  spot  where  they  were 
culled),  —  who  shall  blame  her  if  she  wept  till  her  nerves  were  * 
all  unstrung,  and  she  had  scarcely  strength  at  night  to  undress 
the  children,  and  lay  herself  upon  the  pillow  ?  But  all  night 
there  mingled  with  her  dreams  a  vision  of  the  dear  old  home, 
with  that  straggling  branch  of  honeysuckle  that  waved  the  sad 
farewell ;  and  the  vines  putting  on  their  greenness ;  and  the 
babbling  brook,  and  whispering  pines,  and  solemn  mountain. 
And  when  she  woke,  her  heart  leaped  at  the  thought  of  ex 
changing  these  brick  walls,  soon,  for  the  beautiful  reality. 

Captain   Brown,  on  his  ri  turn,  could  scarcely  speak  of  Mrs. 
Vernon  with  composure.     "  Such  a  change  !  —  you  '11  see  — 
you  '11  sec  !     Her  ears  and  fingers  are  as  transparent  as  that 
cheeny  cup  on  the  shelf.     If  she  conies  here,  wife,  she  '11  not 
go  back  again.     She  's  most  through.     And  if  you  've  a  mind,, 
I  'm  thinking  we  '11  oft'er  to  take  one  of  the  little  ones." 
"  She  would  n't  trust  the  child  to  its.  Mr.  Brown." 
"  But,  Susie  has  been  with  her  so  much,  I  often  think  she  'a 
got  her  ways." 


THE   SHADY    SIDE;    C-t, 

"  Well,  T  am  willing"  said  the  good  woman.    "  We  will  see !  * 

The  hope  of  this  visit,  Mary  kept  many  days  in  her  heart ; 
bat,  alas !  it  was  never  to  be  realized.  As  the  time  drew  near 
an  unexpected  claim  was  handed  in  for  settlement,  and,  after  a 
struggle,  she  appropriated  to  it  the  ten  dollars,  and  resigned  the 
hope  of  seeing  Olney.  From  this  time  she  sank  rapidly. 

M ubel  had  foreboded  such  a  fate,  even  as  far  back  as  that 
la-t  sickness,  a  year  ago,  at  Olney,  when  the  parsonage  walls 
were  soaked  by  the  spring  rains,  and  she  was  overtasked  with 
care,  and  many  comforts  were  foregone,  because  the  money 
failed.  After  Mr.  Vernon's  funeral,  she  had  asked  the  land 
lady  to  drop  her  a  line,  if  Mrs.  Vernon  should  be  sick  and  need 
a  nurse.  So,  now,  she  came  as  if  for  a  visit ;  and  days  passed, 
and  she  took  by  degrees  the  mother's  place  with  the  children, 
and  did  everything  so  naturally,  that  Mrs.  Vernon  did  not 
realize  her  own  debility,  or  know  the  extent  of  Mabel's  gener 
osity.  Noble  girl !  She  had  left  her  place,  where  she  was 
earning  three  dollars  a  week,  and  brought  with  her  the  savings 
of  the  last  year,  devoting  her  all  to  smooth  the  closing  days  of 
one  who  had  taken  her,  a  motherless  girl,  and  reared  her  up  to 
womanhood.  Thank  God !  humanity  and  gratitude  have  not 
died  out  of  the  world.  "  But  not  many  rich,  not  many  noble." 
It  is  still  the  poor  of  this  world  that  are  rich  in  faith  and  good 
works. 

Mabel  sees  that  the  sick-room  is  supplied  with  every  comfort. 
One  thing,  indeed,  there  is  —  pure  country  air  —  that  money 
will  not  buy.  The  invalid  pines  for  the  sweet  breezes  that 
used  to  stray  through  her  bedroom  window.  "  But,  after  all," 
raid  she,  "  heaven  is  as  near  me  here  ;  and  there  '  are  sweeter 
bowers  than  Eden  knows.'  0,  for  that  blessed  rest !  " 

She  was  sometimes  anxious  to  see  some  way  of  disposing  of 
the  children.  She  had  written  to  Mr.  Catlin,  to  come  and 
advise  with  her ;  and  Mabel  thought  she  had  a  plan,  to  ex 
change  Rose  for  Ellen,  if  her  aunt  would  give  her  up,  in  case 
Mr.  Oatli'i  might  offer  to  take  one  of  them  into  his  own  family 
For  this  dear  one  she  felt  the  most  solicitude.  But  Mr, 


LIFE   IN    A    COUNTRY    PARSONAGE.  847 

Catlin  did  not  come.  She  knew  not  tr.it  he  was  waiting,  in 
the  daily  hoj>c  that,  the  spasmodic  affection  of  the  heart,  under 
which  his  care-worn  wife  was  suffering,  would  soon  give  back; 
allowing  him  to  leave  her  for  a  journey  to  the  city.  The  angel 
of  death  is  over  his  dwelling,  yet  the  time  will  come  when  dear 
Mary  Catlin  will  rememlx-'r  the  little  orphans.  They  will  ever 
have  a  friend,  too,  while  Mabel  Ellis  lives ;  as  we  shall  see,  if 
permitted  hereafter  to  trace  their  history. 

Mary's  faith,  on  the  whole,  triumphed.  Sometimes  she  spoke 
of  brother  James  taking  one  of  the  little  girls  to  his  western 
home.  She  was  sure  some  way  would  be  provided.  And  she 
said,  at  last,  "  I  have  settled  nothing  ;  but  I  can  leave  Provi 
dence  to  arrange  it  all." 

Mabel  sent  for  Allie,  when  she  saw  the  end  approaching, 
lie  had  been  prepared,  and  bore  himself  with  a  fortitude  and 
judgment  that  could  be  expected  of  few  boys  in  their  eleventh 
year.  The  day  after  his  arrival,  his  mother  was  better,  and 
they  had  a  long,  sweet  talk,  that  will  ever  abide  in  his  heart. 
She  spoke  freely,  and  calmly  too,  of  their  past  history;  of  the 
peculiar  trials  attending  their  calling ;  lamented  that  she  had 
not  always  looked  as  she  might  on  the  sunniest  side  of  things, 
and  had  that  grace  and  faith  in  exercise  which  would  have 
taken  away  the  sting  of  many  a  trouble.  She  sometimes 
feared  her  children  would  magnify  the  discomforts  of  a  min 
ister's  lot,  and  shrink  from  it  for  themselves.  She  alludes  to 
cousin  Edward,  and  leaves  for  him  an  affectionate  message  :  — 
"  If  he  acquire  property,  tell  him  to  remember  that  he  is  only 
a  steward,  and  to  do  all  the  good  that  God  gives  him  the  abil 
ity  ;  and  not  to  retain  his  old  prejudice  against  Olney.  The 
difficulty  there,  was  want  of  light  and  thought,  as  well  as  want 
of  heart.  They  will  do  better  by  another  minister  Much 
good  seed  has  been  sown  there,  which,  though  long  buried,  will 
not  be  lost."  She  expresses  to  Allie  her  conviction  that  bet 
ter  d-iys  are  coming  in  the  ministry.  The  churches  will  awake 
to  the  value  of  their  religious  privileges,  and  make  their  p 
more  comfortable.  They  will  see  it  to  b«  their  interest,  und 


348  THE    SH.VDY    SIDE. 

feel  it  a  privilege.  She  recalls  with  him  the  happy  days  he  so 
well  remembers,  when,  though  there  were  many  shadows  hov 
ering  near,  they  hud  joy,  and  peace,  and  domestic  love,  and 
Christian  comfort,  around  the  domestic  hearth.  She  tells  him, 
too,  of  the  unequalled  joy  his  dear  father  felt  when  he  had 
comforted  some  tempted  soul,  or  brought  back  a  wanderer  to 
the  Saviour's  fold.  Allie,  in  return,  opens  all  his  heart ;  and 
the  tears,  till  now  repressed,  flow  down  her  pale  cheek,  and  she 
clasps  him  to  her  bosom,  as  he  says  it  is  his  great  ambition  to 
be  a  good  minister  of  the  gospel,  and  follow  his  dear  father's 
steps.  She  forewarns  him,  that,  unless  he  has  great  singleness 
of  purpose,  trials  may  shake  this  resolution.  But  Allie  smile's, 
and  says,  "  Have  I  not  seen  the  dark  side  already,  mother  ?  So 
I  shall  not  be  disappointed." 

This  was  the  last  connected  conversation.  The  effort  had 
been  too  much.  Kind  caresses,  single  expressions  of  maternal 
love,  broken  prayers,  ejaculatory  praises,  and  silent  benedic 
tions,  filled  up  the  closing  scene.  And  on  Mabel's  faithful 
bosom,  with  one  hand  in  Allie's,  and  the  little  ones  held  where 
she  could  see  them,  in  the  arms  of  pitying  friends,  quietly,  and 
without  pain,  the  silver  cord  was  loosed ;  and,  at  the  early 
age  of  thirty-three,  she  joined  the  beatified  above,  who  wait 
the  fleeting  days  till  the  whole  circle  shall  be  again  complete  in 
a  blest  reunion  in  the  home  on  high.  "  Thanks  be  unto  God, 
who  giveth  us  the  victory  through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

"  These  are  they  which  came  out  of  great  tribulation,  and 
have  washed  their  robes  and  made  them  white  in  the  blood  of 
the  Lamb.  They  shall  hunger  no  more,  neither  thirst  any 
more  ;  neither  shall  the  sun  light  on  them,  nor  any  heat.  For 
the  Lamb  who  is  in  the  midst  of  the  throne,  shall  feed  them 
and  shall  lead  them  unto  living  fountains  of  water,  and  God 
shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their  eyes." 

The  precious  clay  is  placed,  temporarily,  in  the  vault  by  Ed 
ward's  side  ;  while  Mabel  confides  to  the  orphan  boy  her  purpose, 
that  both  the  parents  shall  yet  sleep  together  under  the  blue 
eky,  by  little  Willie's  side,  in  the  dear  church-yard  at  Olney. 


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